FATTOT 


. 


LI  BR  AR  Y 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA. 

GIRT    OR 


Received^      .. 
Accessions  No.  _ 


o. 


MIGNONETTE 


pATHERED    IN    J-foURS    OF    PAIN!        MAY    ITS 

SWEETNESS  PISTILL,    FOR   MANY 


JHE  AUTHOR, 


S    THE 


ATCHISON,  KANSAS: 

1883 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  l«s:{,  by  Kllen 
Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


of  tin- 


© 


© 


PRESS     OF  

HASKELL&SON, 
ATCHISON,   KS. 


BRING  a  sprig  of  Mignonette, 

With  dews  of  night  it  still  is  wet ; 
Leaves  of  lemon,  buds  of  rose, 
Their  jars  of  fragrance  will  unclose. 

Sometimes  we  crush  the  sweetest  thing, 
For  finer  perfume  that  may  cling  ; 
Sometimes  God  breaks  the  gentlest  heart, 
To  make  its  hidden  sweetness  start. 

The  night  is  sometimes  full  of  stars, 
More  often  crossed  by  cloudy  bars ; 
But  morning  comes  to  every  soul, 
And  Heaven  is  the  Christian's  goal. 

Accept  my  bunch  of  posies,  friend, 
May  they  with  all  life's  hardness  blend  ; 
With  faith  and  love  I  tie  together 
An  antidote  for  stormy  weather. 


© 


Ho  !  Pilot !     What  of  the  night ; 
And  what  of  the  angry  sea? 
Can  you  bring  me  safe  to  land  ? 
I  have  trusted  my  life  to  thee. 


INDEX 

SONGS  OF 


PAGE. 

June's  Consolation 9 

Among  the  Grapes 12 

My  Dove 13 

Twilight  Reveries 15 

Go  Work  in  my  Vineyard 17 

Song  of  the  Night 20 

Empty  and  Full 22 

By  the  Riverside 24 

In  Simon's  House   26 

Lo  !  I  Come;  Be  Ye  also  Ready 28 

Herbert  and  Reginald 30 

Swing  Low 31 

Prayer 33 

Yielded  Up 34 

Star  Gleams 36 

Comfort.. 38 

Marcn  of  the  Ages 40 

Ways  of  Loving  Jesus 43 

An  Afternoon  Talk 47 

The  Ministry  of  Pain 49 

Trusting 50 

The  Cedar  Tree 52 

Nature's  Prophecies 53 

Redemption  Draweth  Nigh 55 

The  Gate  of  Prayer 56 

The  Sea  and  the  Light-house 59 

Grapes  of  Eschol 61 

Touch  and  Be  Healed 62 

Slipping  Away 64 

Wayside  Journey 66 

A  Song 68 


VI.  INDEX. 

Treasures 69 

Soaring  and  Singing 70 

Day  is  Breaking 72 

A  Lump  of  Clay 73 

Only  Leaves 75 

Thinking  and  Acting 77 

Foreshadowings 79 

Beside  the  Stream 80 

A  Song  by  the  Wayside 81 


Down  in  the  Trenches 83 

Flowers  and  Women 86 

The  Midnight  Cry 88 

Easter  Hjmn 90 

Coming  Home 91 

A  Winter  Idyl 93 

Peace  and  Good  Will 95 

My  Lesson 97 

Ri/pah 98 

Crayon  Sketches 101 

Sleep  103 

Little  Brown  Hen        105 

Indian  Summer  is  Dead 107 

Love 108 

Broken  Shackles 109 

Warp  and  Woof Ill 

The  Mother's  Lament 112 

Hagar Ill 

The  Day  and  1 117 

Beishazzar's  Feast 118 

A  Temperance  Dream 120 

The  Two  Brooks 123 

The  Bridge  O'er  Which  the  Babies  Go 125 

Nest  Building 128 

Babv's  Poem 129 

The  Twins 131 

Thoughts  for  Scientists 182 

Leaves  from  Gethsemane....  .    134 


INDEX.  VII. 

God's  Mercy 136 

Maids  and  Apple  Blossoms 138 

A  Soul  at  Auction  140 

A  Woman's  Protest 141 

Looking  Out 143 

To  One  who  asked  fora  Song 145 

After  Christmas 147 

A  Little  Sermon 149 

Woman 150 

The  Call  151 

The  Bow  in  theCloud 153 

Summer  Has  Come 156 

Silver  Wedding  Song .-. 157 

Ked  Clover 160 

Answer  to  the  Nation's  Prayer 162 

Christ's  Transfiguration 164 

A  Mamma  to  Keep 166 

Jesus  and  the  Woman 167 

<3>hilds  department. 

Little  Boy  Blue  169 

To  Grade's  Picture 171 

Christmas  Carol 172 

Staining  of  the  Leaves 174 

Going  Fishing  177 

Mother  Goose  Revised ]80 

Tho  Kitten  Story  182 

Whisky  Punch 183 

Going  a  Maying 185 

Nellie's  Chatter * 1S7 

Rod  Breast  Robin  188 

Two  Johnnies 189 

Snow  Flake 190 

Somebody's  Coming    191 

Little  Bare  Feet        193 

Longing  for  Spring J95 

Baby 196 

Didn't  Want  to  be  an  Angel 197 

Christmas  Bells....  ..  199 


Jtme's  Gonsolation. 

OME  gently  sailing  in,  through  window  opened  wide, 

The  musky  scent  of  roses  white  and  red ; 
Methinks  the  perfumed  air  will  flush  my  lonely  room — 

Pale  grief  will  swoon  away  ;  the  God  o'erhead, 
That  guides  the  foam-white  clouds  upon  their  way, 
Bears  me  upon  his  loving  breast  to-day. 

The  roses  thrilled  with  life  and  burst  their  swaddling 
bands, 

To  flaunt  their  plumes  and  coquette  with  the  sun ; 
So,  let  me  cast  the  half-crushed  shell  in  which  I  hide, 

For  one  that's  fringed  with  glory  ;  life  is  won 
By  climbing  like  the  vine  toward  the  light ; 
The  sweet,  sweet  day  is  ever  born  of  night. 


10  SONGS   OF    HOPE. 

I  close  my  eyes,  and  silver-footed  silence  reigns, 
Peace  folds  her  wings,  content  awhile  to  bide, 

And  love  drops  amber  honey  on  my  parching  lips  ; 
How  good  it  is  within  God's  arms  to  hide. 

Just  hear  the  blue-bird  burst  his  throat  with  praise, 

A  wreath  of  song  to  clasp  around  my  days. 

A  song,  yes,  steep  my  spirit  in  thy  subtle  breath, 
And  charm  away  my  grief,  O  bloom  and  bird, 

While  I  lean  back  in  trust  upon  my  downy  rest — 
Sweet  promises  I  find  within  God's  word. 

But  late  there  burned  within  my  room  a  light ; 

Love  lit  and  fed  it— ah  !  'twas  very  bright. 

The  light  burn'd  dimmer,  dimmer  still,  and  then  went  out; 

The  lute  of  one  sweet  voice  had  broken  strings, 
'T  was  not  attuned  to  human  harmonies,  and  now 

I  mourn  my  lute,  while  sandaled  sorrow  flings 
Her  soft,  dark  mantle  o'er  my  quivering  form; 
I  tremble  like  the  aspen  in  this  storm. 

Trill  on,  O  prayerful  bird,  and  royal  blossoms,  burn, 
My  darling  loved  you  both,  and  he  may  stay 

To  heed  thy  gracious  ministry  unset  to  words ; 
I  think  he  is  not  far  from  me  to-day— 

I  seem  to  feel  him  near,  e'en  as  blind  eyes 

Can  feel  the  light  poured  out  through  azure  skies. 


SONGS   OF    HOPE.  11 

They  built  a  poem  'round  my  pureling  while  he  slept — 
The  fragrant,  dainty  blossoms  on  his  breast, 

The  scarlet  spotted  ones  atween  the  two  white  feet — 
How  lovely  thou  didst  seem  in  that  deep  rest ! 

But  up  some  emerald  steep  thy  soul  did  climb, 

Where  snow-white  lilies  blow,  unknown  in  time. 

I  lightly  soar  with  thee  up  to  those  beamy  plains. 
Where  full-banked  rivers  run,  thick  fringed  with  flowers ; 

And  I  in  turn  draw  thee,  by  love's  immortal  chain, 
To  share  my  earth,  and  I  share  heaven's  bowers, 

Ah !  love  does  riot  forget,  and  love  is  strong, 

I'll  leap  the  sea  of  death  ere  very  long. 

Love  is  the  God  within  us,  and  will  grandly  reign 

When  all  the  coarser  fiber  is  burned  out; 
So,  gleaming  cohorts,  stand  upon  that  wave-worn  shore 

With  all  your  dove-like  plumage  on,  and  shout — 
"Ye  gates  of  purple  and  of  gold,  unroll, 
To  welcome  in  another  storm-beat  soul." 


12  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


Among  the  Grapes. 

(sit  upon  the  hill-side  slope,  the  day  is  dying  slow, 
And  all  the  idle  autumn  winds  are  wandering  to  and 

fro; 

The  western  sky  is  glorified  with  mingled  gray  and  gold, 
While  night  shakes  out  her  shining  robes,  with  odors  in 

each  fold, 

And  all  the  while  sad  whip-poor-will, 
Pipes  forth  his  song  beyond  the  hill. 

The  song  repeated  o'er  and  o'er,  it  holds  a  vague  unrest, 
As  if  the  mystery  of  grief  were  trembling  in  thy  breast ; 
As  if  the  heart  of  Nature  were  stirred  with  some  swift  pain, 
And  you  uttered  it  for  her  in  verse,  again  and  once  again.. 

t7  O  O 

You  make  me  sad.  sweet  whip-poor-will, 
Piping  your  song  beyond  the  hill. 

All  round  about  me  vine  leaves  are  curling  in  the  breeze, 
And  purple  grapes  breathe  incense,  that  floats  above  the 

trees  ; 

The  chalice  of  the  night-wind  is  filled  with  subtle  wine; 
In  this  enchanted  atmosphere  I  weave  my  dreamy  rhyme ; 

While  minor  tones  of  whip-poor-will, 

Make  melody  beyond  the  hill. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  13 

All  the  ruby  globes  around  me  seem  whispering  of  a  time 
When  all  their  purple  hearts  will  be  exhaled  in  wine. 
Must  everything  be  crushed  till  it  yields  its  finest  sweet  ? 
Must  gold  lie  in  the  crucible  and  feel  the  furnace  heat  ? 

My  answer  comes  from  whip-poor-will, 

Who  sings  his  plaintive  ditty  still. 

Grapes,  gold  and  hearts  are  crushed,  or  feel  the  touch  of 

fire ; 

So  in  the  martyr  flames  I  sit,  and  tune  my  trembling  lyre. 
O  band  of  pain  that  holds  me  fast,  yet  leaves  me  strength 

to  sing, 
Up  broken  stairways  of  my  heart,  praise  climbs  to 

Christ  our  King. 

I  join  the  flute-voiced  whip-poor-will, 
Who  chants  his  anthem  o'er  the  hill. 


My  I>ove. 

LITTLE  white  dove  flew  into  my  breast, 
And  pleaded  for  rest. 
I  folded  the  birdling  close  with  my  arm, 
And  soothed  its  alarm. 


We  grew  so  happy — my  white  dove  and  I, 
Joy  came  from  the  sky  ; 


14  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

Just  now  I  sit  here  making  my  moan— 
My  birdie  has  flown. 

There  came  a  loud  call,  clear  and  wond'rous  sweet ; 
I  sprang  to  my  feet, 

And  cried  in  my  pain,  '-Ah!  let  the  dove  stay ; 
Don't  bereave  me  to  day." 

It  slipped  from  my  hold,  I  could  riot  detain, 
With  my  passion  of  pain  ; 
A  cup  full  of  gall  was  pressed  to  my  lip, 
And  I  took  but  a  sip. 

It  was  bitter;  I  reached  it  back  to  the  Lord, 
And  uttered  no  word  ; 

He  spoke ;  His  love  made  my  wounded  heart  thrill, 
"Peace,  child,  and  lie  still. 

"Lay  thy  burden  on  me ;  Til  drink  up  the  gall, 
And  bear  thee  through  all ; 
When  the  pain  is  hardest  lie  on  my  breast, 
Like  a  bird  in  its  nest. 

"I'll  take  care  of  the  dove,  and  bear  thee  along 

Till  thou  nearest  its  song." 

So,  step  after  step,  with  uplifted  eye, 

I  climb  to  the  sky. 


' 


. . £2 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  15 

When  at  last  I  come  to  death's  sullen  shore, 
Christ  will  ferry  me  o'er  ; 
There  -I  will  find,  in  the  land  of  His  love, 
My  tender  white  dove. 


Twilight  Reveries. 

SAT  in  the  door  of  my  cottage, 

At  the  close  of  a  long  summer's  day  ; 
Before  me  were  stretches  of  woodland, 

And  the  hills  in  the  distance  lav ; 
The  shadows  were  folding  around  me, 

The  many  sweet  voices  of  night 
Were  charming  away  my  sadness, 
And  turning  my  soul  to  the  light. 

I  thought  how  oft  in  the  gloaming, 

Our  dear  Lord  had  wandered  away, 
While  the  twelve,  who  watched  Him  and  loved  Him, 

Were  saying,  '-He  goeth  to  pray." 
Oh,  garden,  surpassing  all  others, 

Whose  dews  have  been  brushed  by  a  God ; 
Oh,  sorrow,  that  we  cannot  fathom, 

When  Jesus  lay  prone  on  the  sod. 


o . 

16  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Thy  grasses  had  bloody  baptism, 

Thy  olive  trees  swayed  to  His  moan, 
While  he  sweat  drops  of  blood  in  the  garden. 

And  prayed  there  in  meekness  alone. 
And  now  I  sit  here  in  the  twilight, 

Thinking  over  these  sweet  thoughts  of  Thee  ; 
The  smile  of  Thy  love,  warm  and  tender, 

Seems  resting  a  blessing  oir  me. 

Thy  gentle  voice  says,  "  Bear  thy  burden  ; 

Shrink  not  from  the  pain  and  the  loss ; 
I  bore,  I  suffered,  I  conquered— 

Heaven  lies  by  the  way  of  the  cross. 
Look  off  to  the  hills  of  Mount  Zion, 

There  lieth  thy  hope  and  thy  rest ;" 
And  my  heart  riseth  up  while  it  singeth, — 

I'll  trust  Him,  for  He  knoweth  best. 

The  crossing  of  death  may  be  nearer 

Than  I  think,  as  I  sit  here  to-night, 
But  its  waters  can  never  o'er  whelm  me, — 

My  faith  will  be  then  turned  to  sight ; 
I  will  see  my  dear  Lord  standing  ready 

To  lead  me  across  by  the  hand, 
And  if  I  grow  faint  in  the  Jordan, 

His  arms  will  bear  safely  to  land. 


. $ 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  17 


Work  in  My  Vineyard. 

WAS  an  early  hour  in  the  morning, 

The  silvery  light  of  the  stars, 
Was  all  blown  out  from  the  heavens  ; 

But  up  through  her  eastern  bars 
The  bride  of  the  day  was  climbing, 

Away  Irom  her  feet  there  rolled 
Her  robes,  where  mingled  the  pearl  and  gray, 
So  daintily  trimmed  with  the  gold. 

While  waiting,  a  cry  came  stealing, 

Straight  down  froni  the  rosy  sky  : 
"Child,  go  work  in  my  garden  to-day, 

And  go  ere  the  sun  rises  high." 
"O,  let  me  enjoy  the  morning, 

So  dewy,  so  cool,  so  fair  ; 
My  hands  are  too  soft  and  white  for  work, 

Some  other  must  take  my  share." 

So  I  idled  through  all  the  morning, 
Each  hour  seemed  long  as  a  day  ; 

Gathered  some  flowers,  and  heard  the  bird, 
That  was  singing  over  the  way. 


e 


18  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

At  noon  the  voice  came  back  to  me, 
4 '  O,  the  weeds  are  growing  apace, 
I  have  looked  but  cannot  iind  a  hand 
That  is  willing  to  take  your  place."1 

I  thought  I  would  go  to  the  garden, 

And  sit  in  its  pleasant  shade  ; 
Perhaps  would  direct  the  toilers, 

But  could  not  give  them  my  aid, 
For  now  is  the  heat  and  the  burden, 

Of  all  the  long,  weary  day  ; 
The  sun  shines  down  like  a  furnace  fire, 

Would  my  unskilled  labor  pay? 

I  saw  an  army  of  toilers, 

Working  away  for  the  King ; 
The  sweat  dropped  down  from  weary  browsr 

But  each  had  a  song  to  sing  ; 
They  loosened  the  ground  around  each  plant, 

They  watered  with  dews  of  grace, 
And  each  looked  up  with  a  smiling  trust, 

Straight  into  the  Master's  face. 

They  gathered  the  sheaves  and  bound  them,. 

They  thought  of  a  harvest  home  ; 
The  day  was  slipping  adown  the  sky, 

And  sweet  rest  was  sure  to  come. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  19 

I  looked  at  a  little  corner, 

Thick  grown  with  bramble  and  weed, 
The  sun  and  air,  they  had  no  chance 

For  helping  the  precious  seed. 

I  looked  at  my  tender  hands  again, 

And  then  at  the  western  sky, 
Sprang  to  my  feet  with  a  trembling  heart, 

Resolved  that  I  would  try. 
Dear  Lord,  the  day  is  almost  gone. 

But  I  will  labor  till  night ; 
My  bleeding  hands  were  torn  by  thorns, 

But  at  "evening  time  'twas  light." 

My  tears  rained  down,  they  turned  to  prayers  ; 

One  stood  in  the  gloaming  by, 
And  cheered  me  with  His  loving  smile, 

He  heard  my  feeblest  cry. 
Ah,  now  I  feel  how  light  my  task ! 

Henceforth  my  pride  shall  be, 
To  keep  this  garden  corner  clear, 

Till  Jesus  calls  out  for  me. 


20  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


Song  of  the  Night. 


ZION,  the  city  that  I  love— 
Ah,  how  my  weary  feet 
Are  pressing  along  the  narrow  way, 

Toward  the  golden  street  ; 
Sweet  way-marks  of  the  Lord  I  find, 

Till  my  soul,  like  a  lark  on  the  wing, 
Flies  out  of  my  breast  and  soars  away  ; 
And  this  is  the  song  I'll  sing  : 

"My  Lord  has  risen,  and  I  will  rise, 
Straight  up  to  the  gates  of  Paradise." 

Sometimes  when  the  purple  night  comes  down, 

And  the  road  -way  of  the  sky 
Is  lighted  up  with  the  starry  lamps, 

I  long  for  my  home  on  high. 
I  look  for  Jesus  —  He  does  not  come 

To  fold  me  up  close  to  His  breast  ; 
But  a  strong,  swift  angel  flutters  down, 
And  whispers,  "He'll  give  you  rest." 

So  out  in  the  night  I  send  my  voice, 
"He  loves  you  still,  faint  heart  rejoice." 


SONGS   OF    HOPE.  21 

The  tender  gardener  loves  the  plant, 
When  he  clips  each  bud  and  bloom  ; 

He  would  train  it  up  to  a  larger  growth- 
Tor  finer  blossoms  make  room. 

I,  like  the  silver,  must  be  refined, 
And,  when  thrust  in  the  hottest  fire, 

Lift  pleading  eyes  away  to  the  King — 
To  His  praise  will  I  tune  my  lyre. 

No  bird  of  the  wood  will  give  song  so  sweet, 
As  I  will  pour  out  at  the  Master's  feet. 

My  carrier  dove  I  will  speed  along, 

Winged  by  trust  and  loving  prayer ; 
No  gem  of  the  mines  would  give  such  joy 

To  Him  who  is  bearing  my  care. 
The  faint,  sweet  odors  that  hide  in  the  east, 

They  brought  unto  Mary's  blest  child. 
The  broken  spirit,  the  service  of  love, 

I  offer  the  Lamb  undefiled. 

Fie  hung  on  the  cross.     Ah,  rapture  ;   ah,  pain  ! 
He  died  on  the  cross,  but  He  liveth  again. 

Sweet  lilies  that  rock  on  Galilee's  sea — 
Soft  winds  that  have  over  them  blown— 

With  }our  spicy  breath  fly  away,  away, 
To  Him  who  sits  on  the  throne. 


22  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Break  into  praise,  O  mountain  and  vale — 

Cold  heart,  be  enkindled  to  flame  ; 
Waves  of  the  ocean  and  crash  of  the  gale, 
Chant  praises  to  His  precious  name. 

Immanuel  triumphs,  his  flag  is  unfurled. 

The  babe  of  the  manger  has  conquered  the  world- 


3£mpty  and  Full. 

are  empty  chairs  all  over  the  land  ; 

I've  an  empty  heart  and  an  empty  hand 

For  the  Lord  of  Glory  to  fill  ; 
But  alas  !  what  will  fill  the  little  chair, 
And  how  shall  I  wreathe  the  cross  I  bear, 

Or  yield  to  the  Savior,  my  will. 

Our  dear  laddie's  memory  fills  the  chair, 
The  blue,  blue  eyes  and  the  gold  brown  hair, 
The  rose  red  mouth,  so  pure,  so  sweet  ; 
In  fancy  gleams  out  that  high,  white  brow, 
Through  a  mist  of  tears  I  see  thee  now, 
From  thy  dimpled  hands  to  thy  feet. 


$ 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Around  the  cross  I'll  lovingly  twine, 
An  evergreen  rare,  not  culled  in  time  — 

Where  death  never  comes  it  grew  ; 
The  fragrant  white  blossoms  of  perfect  love, 
Trail  over  and  down  from  the  land  above  ; 

They  are  gemmed  with  heavenly  dew. 

Thus  I  deck  my  cross,  and  my  will  I  lay 
At  the  Father's  feet,  and  humbly  pray, 

May  my  will  be  made  thine  own  ; 
Oh,  heaven  will  not  be  empty  to  me, 
My  mother  and  two  sweet  sons  I'll  see, 

When  I  bow  by  the  great  white  throne. 

Yes,  heaven  is  full  of  little  white  souls, 
The  tide  of  their  lives  it  rolls  and  rolls, 

But  to  break  at  the  dear  Lord's  feet. 
Oh,  empty  me  of  my  passion  and  pain, 
To  fill  me  up  with  the  Christ  again  ; 

Make  thy  purpose  in  me  complete. 


23 


UNIVERSITY 


O : O 

24  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


By  the  River  Side. 

CAME  to  the  shore  of  a  wide,  turbid  river, 
The  waves  they  were  hungry  and  rose  to  the  land  ; 
The  soul  that  was  in  me  shrank  back  with  a  shiver, 
Appalled  at  the  sight  of  the  ruin  decked  strand. 
But  over  the  tide  fairest  flowers  were  blowing, 
And  over  the  waters  I  fain  would  be  going. 

While  I  wait,  the  night  time  is  silently  falling, 

And  only  one  star  breaks  the  black  of  the  sky  ; 
While  over  the  river  sweet  voices  are  calling, 

"Fear  not  to  launch  out,  though  the  billows  run  high ; 
For  here  are  your  loved  ones,  and  here  is  the  glory 
You  have  read  of  so  oft  in  the  old,  old  story." 

Yes,  friend  after  friend  has  gone  out  through  this  portal, 

The  mate  of  my  spring-time,  the  babe  of  my  breast ; 
And  now  over  yonder  they  stand  up  immortal, 
While  I  still  linger  here,  though  longing  for  rest. 
But  ah,  this  deep  river,  this  terrible  river, 
Ho  !   boatman,  come  quickly  and  bear  me  swift 
thither. 


© 


SONGS   OF   HOPE.  25 

The  sheaves  that  I  gathered,  Oh  !  fain  would  I  carry, 
To  the  Lord  of  the  temple  that,  gleaming,  you  see  ; 
The  night  shutteth  down,  why  so  long  do  you  tarry  ? 
Come,  take  o'er  my  treasures,  and  with  them  take  me. 
The  winds  bear  unto  me  sweet  odors  of  heaven, 
The  song  of  the  blest  to  my  earth  ears  is  given. 

At  last  beareth  out  from  the  harbor  eternal, 

A  white  boat  with  sails  of  a  silvery  hue  ; 

I  soon  will  be  walking  in  fields  ever  vernal, 

Where  the  sun  never  sets,  with  the  skies  ever  blue. 
Yes,  over  the  river,  the  wild,  cruel  river, 
I'm  going  to  live  wilh  my  darlings  forever. 

In  the  prow  there  is  one  with  an  eye  like  the  morningr 

With  brow  that's  majestic,  the  grace  of  a  king; 
The  sunlight  of  glory  his  pathway  adorning, 

As  the  bark  speedeth  o'er  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 
I  no  more  am  a  pilgrim  of  labor  and  sorrow, 
But  glide  out  from  time  to  eternity's  morrow. 

Farewell  to  you,  friends,  who  press  down  to  the  river,, 
To  earth  my  ear  dulls  and  my  eyes  they  grow  dim  ;, 
I  am  entering  now  on  the  golden  forever, 
My  spirit  is  tuned  to  a  grand  triumph  hymn. 

How  sweet  is  the  rhyme  of  the  waters  smooth  flowing, 
They  wait  for  me  yonder  —  good  bye  —  I  am  going. 


26  SONGS   OF    HOPE 


In  Simon's  House. 


haughty  Pharisee  had  asked 
The  lowly  Nazarene  to  dine  ; 
A  woman  from  the  city  came, 

While  they  upon  the  couch  recline. 
Behind  the  Lord  she  stood  and  wept  ; 

She  bathed  with  tears  those  weary  feet, 
And  dried  them  with  her  ebon  hair  — 
Ah,  love  and  homage,  sweet,  most  sweet. 

Those  kisses  were  unspoken  prayer, 

And  when  the  alabaster  vase 
Had  spilt  its  sweetness  on  the  air, 

The  loving  Lord  gave  grace  for  grace. 
The  haughty  Simon  thought  with  pride 

Were  he  a  prophet,  Christ  would  know 
This  is  a  sinner  —  He  would  chide 

Her  sin  and  weakness  —  bid  her  go. 

The  woman  wept,  and  Jesus  knew 

The  thought  that  lurked  in  Simon's  heart; 

This  is  the  picture  that  He  drew. 
And  held  it  up  with  guileless  art  : 


m 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  27 

"  There  were  two  debtors  owed  one  king, 
One  sum  was  large,  the  other  small ; 

Nothing  they  had,  and  naught  could  bring, 
So  freely  he  forgave  them  all." 

4 'Now  which  would  love  the  most,  think  you  '?" 

"The  one  that  had  the  most  forgiven." 
"You  are  right ;  'tis  not  the  favored  few 

That  find  the  royal  road  to  heaven. 
This  woman  came  with  gentle  tread, — 

You  gave  no  water  for  my  feet, 
No  kiss,  no  ointment  for  my  head  ; 

But  she  hath  given  service  meet." 

"Yres,  she  hath  lavished  love  and  tears, 

Kisses  and  ointment,  and  her  hair 
Hath  wiped  my  feet ;  the  guilt  of  years 

I  wipe  from  off  her  soul;   'tis  rare 
To  find  such  trusting  love  below. 

Then  go  in  peace,  have  faith  in  me." 
So  forth  she  went,  white  as  the  snow, 

Her  debt  was  canceled,  she  was  free. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

I  Oome:  Be  Ye  Also  Ready." 
[HILE  ray  soul  sat  aloof  from  all  wildering  care, 

a  o 

A  vision  of  glory  and  grandeur  swept  o'er  me  j 
I  lapsed  into  dreaming  so  rich  and  so  rare, 

That  my  griefs  slipped  away — angel  wings  soft  upbore 

me. 
Sweet  Jesus,  the  theme  of  my  fancies  so  glowing, 

As  the  babe  sweetly  smiling,  as  the  man  shedding  tears, 
While  they  wailed  o'er  the  dead,  life  and  love  was 

bestowing, 
He  was  stilling  the  tempest  and  calming  men's  fears. 

He  was  bearing  the  cross,  and  by  rude  hands  uplifted 

Was  nailed  to  the  wood,  with  the  thorns  on  his  brow  ; 
Oh,  passion  divine !  the  sweet  fragrance  hath  drifted 

From  thy  living  and  dying — it  thrilleth  me  now. 
He  was  laid  in  the  tomb — lo  !  He  burst  from  its  holding ; 

Joy,  joy,  He  hath  triumphed !   Christ  is  raised  from  the 

dead ; 
Ascending  to  heaven,  the  swift  clouds  enfolding 

The  glorified  form  that  had  suffered  and  bled. 

This  is  the  sweet  message  He  left  at  His  going, 

"As  I  go,  will  I  come — dear  children,  believe  me  ;" 

The  waves  of  the  melody  round  me  are  flowing, 
Jesus  died — Jesus  lives — He  will  never  deceive  me. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  29 

Methinks  his  descending  draws  nearer  and  nearer ; 

I  am  ready — the  torch  of  my  soul  is  aflame ; 
Earth  fadeth,  and  heaven  seems  nearer  and  clearer  ; 

I  will  mount  to  the  skies  through  faith  in  His  name. 

Will  He  come  in  the  morn  when  the  soft  breezes  stirring, 

The  leaves  of  the  trees  will  they  break  into  praise  ? 
"When  the  sun  in  clear  azure  depths  is  ashining, 

And  dewdrops  on  the  grass  flash  a  smile  in  his  rays  ? 
When  the  flowers  are  abloom  and  all  nature  rejoices, 

The  bird  notes  atremble  to  burden  the  air ; 
Will  the  strong  earth  awaken  in  myriad  voices, 

To  welcome  the  Lord  who  has  borne  all  our  care  ? 

Will  he  come  when  the  moon  serenely  is  shining, 

When  the  star  lamps  are  gemming  the  blue  of  the  sky? 
While  sleep  and  sweet  dreams  are  man's  passions  refining, 

Will  we  wake  from  our  slumbers  to  meet  Christ  on 

high? 
If  He  come  in  the  morning,  or  come  in  the  night 

When  the  earth  is  aglow,  and  pulsing  with  beauty ; 
If  tempests  and  clouds  are  abroad  in  their  might, 

Calm  and  firm  let  us  stand  at  the  post  of  our  duty. 

No  language  can  utter  the  glory  of  heaven, 
No  prophet  tell  over  the  joy  of  God's  own ; 


30  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

For  the  ear  hath  not  heard,  to  the  eye  is  not  given, 
The  unknown  delights  of  the  King  on  His  throne. 

Methinks  even  now  heaven's  arches  are  ringing, 

With  songs  of  the  ransomed  in  robes  of  pure  white. 

I  long  to  be  glorified,  long  to  be  singing 

In  the  land  where  my  God  is  the  joy  and  the  light. 


Herbert — Reginald. 
ILLOWS  of  grief  go  over  my  soul, 

I'm  down  in  a  terrible  flood ; 
Jesus  is  here  the  waves  to  control — 

His  agony  drew  sweat  of  blood. 
My  tender  'babies  He  bears  on  His  breast, 

And  there  let  me  lay  down  my  head  ; 
In  a  little  while  He  will  give  me  rest. 

And  this  is  the  way  I  am  led. 
Up  a  thorn-sprinkled  steep  I  must  go, 

Some  white  blooms  are  gemming  the  road, 
Friends  are  grieving  for  me  here  below, 
But  I  go  beyond  to  my  God. 

He  will  give  me  my  children  again, 
More  lovely  than  ever  before  ; 

Will  empty  my  cup  of  every  pain, 
When  I  land  on  the  heavenly  shore. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  31 

Swing  I^ow. 

'HE  chariot  wheels  are  rolling, 

The  King  will  come  this  way : 
Wake  up,  you  sleepy  virgins, 
He  bade  you  watch  and  pray. 
Swing  low,  swing  low, 

O  shining  chariot,  swing ; 
Our  hearts  have  grown  so  weary, 

While  waiting  for  our  King. 
What,  sleeping  still,  and  he  draws  neart 

Your  lamps  are  burning  low ; 
O  rouse,  and  quickly  trim  the  lights,        , 
The  heavens  begin  to  glow. 
.  Swing  low,  swing  low, 

O  shining  chariot,  swing  ; 
Our  hearts  have  grown  so  weary, 

While  waiting  for  our  King. 
The  sleeping  virgins  will  not  wake, 
Their  lamps  have  quite  gone  out ; 
Perhaps  they  hope  to  buy  some  oil, 
After  the  angels  shout. 

Swing  low,  swing  low, 

O  shining  chariot,  swing  ; 
For  Sharon's  rose  is  blooming  still — 

My  soul  has  cause  to  sing. 
©- •• • — 


o— — 

32  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

The  cloudy  door-ways  of  the  sky 

Stand  open  for  the  King  ; 
And  ranks  of  angels  drift  along, 
Like  birds  upon  the  wing. 
Swing  low,  swing  low, 

O  shining  chariot,  swing  ; 
Our  hearts  have  grown  so  weary, 

While  waiting  for  our  King. 
The  glory  of  thy  golden  hair, 

Is  floating  on  the  breeze  ; 
The  triumph  car  drops  lower  still — 

I  fall  upon  my  knees. 

i 

Swing  low,  swing  low, 

O  shining  chariot,  swing  ; 
Drop  down  until  you  touch  the  earth, 

And  lift  me  to  the  King. 
Thy  crown  is  thorn  marks  on  the  brow, 

There's  nail  marks  in  each  palm ; 
Lo !  all  the  earth  should  waken  up, 
To  chant  some  holy  psalm. 
Swing  low,  swing  low, 

O  shining  chariot  swing ; 
I  break  the  bands  that  hold  me  down, 
And  rise  to  meet  the  King. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  33 


IPrayer. 

JHE  anchor  of  my  soul  is  prayer, 

The  cable  line  is  faith  ; 
It  binds  me  to  God's  throne,  arid  there 
I'll  anchor  too  in  death. 

My  ship  may  toss  upon  life's  sea 

Of  sorrow  and  despair — 
But,  Father,  I  can  come  to  Thee, 

And  calm  all  storms  by  prayer. 

The  perfume  Jesus  loves  is  prayer, 
Distilled  through  tears  and  pain ; 

''Commit  unto  Me  all  thy  care, 
And  sing  a  glad  refrain." 

Prayer  helps  the  weakest  saint  to  live, 

And  bears  the  dying  up  ; 
A  glory  to  each  day  will  give, 

And  sweeten  every  cup. 

Prayer  armed  a  Luther  for  the  fray, 
And  nerved  the  Wesley's  heart ; 

Prayer  will  convert  the  world  to-day, 
If  Christians  do  their  part. 

& 


34 


SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

The  power  of  prayer  is  used  to-day, 

To  quench  the  fires  of  hell  ; 
God  bless  the  women  as  they  pray  — 

God  cause  their  work  to  tell. 

But  men  must  rouse  them  for  the  right,. 

And  hurl  the  devil  down  ; 
A  giant  wrong  goes  out  by  might  — 

Grand  deeds  will  win  the  crown. 


Yielded  Up. 

Y  Jesus  He  gave  me  treasures,. 

So  beautiful,  rich  and  rare, 
I  had  no  place  to  keep  them  safe, 
So  I  gave  them  back  to  his  care. 
He  laid  a  white  babe  upon  my  breast,. 

With  eyes  so  tenderly  blue ; 
My  baby  fell  asleep  one  day, 
In  those  loving  arms  I  laid  him  away.. 
And  there  he  is  taking  his  rest. 

He  gave  me  a  precious  mother, 
But  I  never  knew  her  worth 

Till  she  went  away,  one  autumn  day,, 
Away  from  the  sorrows  of  earth. 


SONGS   OF    HOPE.  35 

There  came  a  message  so  pure,  so  sweet, 

That  the  Lord  sent  down  to  me  : 
"I  conquered  death  and  will  come  again  ; 
Your  babe  and  mother  will  be  in  my  train — " 

I  fell  in  a  trance  at  His  feet. 

I  reknit  the  links  of  my  life, 

And  thought  the  tide  would  turn; 
My  days  were  set  to  a  minor  tune 

I  was  ever  striving  to  learn. 
One  treasure,  still  hid  within  my  heart, 

I  guarded  it  day  and  night, 
Thinking  the  Lord  w^ould  let  me  hold 
This  lammie,  astray  from  the  upper  fold — 

Of  my  life  it  became  a  part. 

One  wet  spring  day  it  found  a  path 
That  would  take  it  home  again  ; 
I  could  not  woo  it  back  to  me, 
But  I  hold  to  a  golden  chain, 
And  follow  along  in  the  upward  track, 

In  search  of  the  tender  thing ; 
The  Lord  He  heard  my  plaintive  cry, 
Without  my  lammie,  O  let  me  die ! 
I  am  sure  He  will  give  him  back. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

One  other  treasure  is  left  to  me — 

I  pray  the  heavenly  King, 
That  into  the  storehouse  of  His  love, 

This  treasure  of    mine  He'll  bring. 
The  jewel  of  my  life  I  hold, 

And  polish  it  day  by  day 
To  make  it  bright,  and  pure,  and  sweet, 
Fit  to  lay  down  at  the  Master's  feet, 

When  I  climb  to  the  upper  fold. 


Star-<31eams. 

'EFORE  the  candles  were  lighted, 

I  sat  in  a  musing  mood  ; 
I  thought  of  hopes  that  were  blighted, 
I  thought  that  the  Lord  was  good — 
Yes,  good  when  He  took  my  treasure, 

Away  from  my  arms  and  love  ; 
This  life  is  not  all  for  pleasure, 
But  a  school  for  the  life  above. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  37 

Though  the  task  be  hard  that's  given, 

Still  I  mmst  patiently  learn 
At  the  feet  of  the  Master  in  heaven, 

Till  he  gives  the  key  to  turn 
My  toil  into  joy  and  singing, 

My  cross  to  a  shining  crown  ; 
The  swift  hours  ever  are  bringing 

A  glory  and  blessing  down. 

So  let  my  cup  be  uplifted 

To  catch  the  gift  from  above  ; 
From  their  moorings  lives  have  drifted, 

Forgetting  that  God  is  love. 
Drifted  past  peace  and  the  morning, 

Into  deep  gloom  and  the  night  ; 
They  saw  not  the  star's  bright  dawning, 

Just  over  yon  mountain  height. 

Lighting  the  path  of  the  weary, 

Clear  shining  for  all  the  lost  ; 
With  it  life  cannot  be  dreary, 

But,  ah,  the  marvelous  cost 
That  set  this  beacon  to  blazing  ! 

Blushing  heavens  and  trembling  earth, 
A  chorus  of  joy  were  raising, 

When  Bethlehem's  Star  had  birth. 


B 


38  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Its  light  has  never  grown  dimmer, 

Through  the  lapse  of  stormy  years ; 
Even  now  I  catch  its  glimmer, 

Through  the  mist  of  falling  tears. 
It  will  gild  the  grave  with  glory, 

Rob  death  of  his  fatal  sting, 
Shine  on  when  saints  tell  their  story, 

Of  triumph  through  Christ  the  King. 


<3omfort. 

||  WANT  to  go  to  the  mother 
vjl'l     Who'  softly  weep, 
Because  their  precious  babies 

Have  gone  to  sleep — 
Asleep  in  the  Savior's  arms, 

And  still  we  cry, 
Wringing  our  hands  in  agony, 
That  they  must  die. 


The  cheeks  that  were  lately  rosy, 
Have  grown  so  white, 

The  eyes  that  were  full  of  sunshine, 
Are  filled  with  night ; 


& 


SONGS    OF   HOPE.  39 

'The  breath  that  kissed  our  bosoms 

Has  sunk  to  rest  ; 
We  miss  the  dainty  heads  that  lay 

Upon  our  breast. 

Let  me  come  into  your  sorrow, 

And  hold  your  hand  ; 
"We  mothers  can  weep  together, 

Over  the  land. 
Let  us  look  off  in  the  distance, 

And  we  may  see 
The  tiny  boats  of  our  darlings, 

Upon  the  sea. 

Whose  crystal  waves  are  flowing 

Hard  by  the  throne  ; 
If  we  find  the  children  happy 

'T  will  still  our  moan. 
Dost  think  we  would  lose  our  babies 

When  grown  to  men  ? 
Dost  think  the  Lord  would  make  a  gift 

And  take  it  again  ? 

O,  what  would  our  heaven  be 

With  babes  shut  out  ? 
I  think  we  would  surely  miss 

The  childrens'  shout. 


0 


: , 0 

40  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

If  full  grown  men  alone  went  in 

To  heaven's  gate, 
We  all  might  feel  some  sorrow, 

When  'twas  too  late. 

Dear  mothers,  can  you  see  the  light 

Through  all  these  tears  ? 
The  Father  gathers  joy  for  us 

In  ceaseless  years. 
The  Savior  took  our  darlings 

To  draw  us  home, 
And  they  are  simply  waiting 

Until  we  come. 


March  of  the 

ill  AM  sitting  apart,  and  my  soul  is  entranced 
™^     With  a  vision  of  splendor  and  glory ; 
All  the  ages  of  God  since  time  was  begun 

Are  gathering  to  tell  the  old  story  ; 
Yes,  marshal  the  years  with  their  fruitage  of  tears. 

And  list  to  the  tales  they  are  telling ; 
They  are  marching  along  so  weary  and  gray, 

While  the  pibroch  of  triumph  is  swelling. 

Q = ; '© 


1 . @ 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  41 

Aye,  tell  us  of  Eden  and  man  ere  the  fall, 

In  a  voice  like  the  breath  of  the  morning, 
When  Adam  stood  up  with  a  soul  like  the  snow, 

And  God's  smile  was  his  pathway  adorning. 
Tell  us  of  Noah  and  the  ark  that  he  built, 

How  the  waves  of  the  deluge  'twas  riding ; 
Tho'  the  waters  covered  the  face  of  the  earth, 

The  spirit  of  God  was  still  guiding. 

Tell  how  they  built  on  the  plains  of  the  east, 

A  message  in  stone  for  the  ages ; 
The  prophets  in  flesh  have  crumbled  to  dust — 

Not  so  with  those  rock-written  pages ; 
Backward  we  read  to  the  springing  of  time, 

And  forward  to  Jesus  appearing  : 
Praiso  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  cry  aloud  in  thy  joy ! 

Trim  your  lamps,  for  the  bridegroom  is  n earing.. 

The  years  sweep  along,  and  they  bring  into  line 

The  Law  and  old  Sinai's  mountain  ; 
The  race  presses  on  in  the  upward  way — 

Again  shall  we  drink  from  life's  fountain. 
Hoary  years  press  along,  and  tell  of  the  time. 

When  angels  their  chorus  were  singing 
"  Unto  you  there  is  born  a  Savior  this  day ;" 

The  heavens  and  glad  earth  were  ringing. 


42  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

In  Bethlehem's  stable  our  Jesus  was  born, 

On  Calvary's  cross  He  hung  dying; 
The  grieved  earth  was  clad  in  darkness  that  day, 

And  strong  was  the  voice  of  her  crying. 
He  sprang  from  the  grave  like  a  lark  from  her  nest, 

But  left  us  this  word  at  his  going : 
"  I  ascend  to  the  Father,  again  will  I  come," 

My  peace  like  a  river  is  flowing. 

Then  soul,  sit  apart  from  the  burden  of  life, 

But  hands,  be  thou  strong  for  each  duty  ; 
Watch  and  wait,  like  a  sentinel  at  his  post, 

For  the  King  will  come  down  in  His  beauty. 
He  will  come  and  bring  us  our  darlings  again — 

Our  treasures  from  over  the  river  ; 
We'll  catch  the  sweet  chime  of  the  heavenly  rhyme, 

And  enter  our  golden  forever. 

Yes,  we  shall  arise  to  meet  Christ  in  the  skies, 

So  life,  plume  thy  wing  for  the  flying  ; 
Up,  up,  past  the  pain  and  the  tears  of  this  life, 

Past  sin  and  the  torment  of  dying. 
A  cloud  once  caught  Him  away  from  the  sight 

Of  those  gazing  up  into  heaven  ; 
Look  abroad,  O  men,  read  the  signs  of  the  times — 

Christ  Jesus  to  you  shall  be  given. 


SONGS   OF   HOPE.  43 

The  years  have  gone  by  in  a  stately  line, 

Each  one  has  told  over  its  story  ; 
The  present  swings  open  a  royal  gate, 

And  there  streams  through  a  bright  flood  of  glory. 
I  sit  here  and  wait,  with  a  smiling  trust, 

And  feel  not  the  sting  of  my  sorrow ; 
Strong  arms  are  beneath,  and  they  bear  me  up, 

Then  Jesus  may  come  back  to-morrow. 


Ways  of  Coving  *  Jesus. 


tOU  love  the  Lord,  my  little  friend  ? 
Pray  tell  me  how. 
"By  going  on  His  holy  day, 
To  hear  the  people  sing  and  pray  ; 
Oh,  I  can  clos9  my  eyes,  and  seem 
Wrapped  in  some  bright  elysian  dream 
Of  sculptured  aisles  and  cloisters  dim, 
Where  angels  chant  their  praise  to  Him 
Where  incense  floats  upon  the  air. 
From  golden  censers  saints  will  bear. 
Yes,  could  I  always  feel  like  this, 
I'd  ask  no  more  for  earthly  bliss. 


44  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

When  I  go  home  to  real  life, 

Then  comes  the  turmoil  and  the  strife  ; 

My  ecstacj  is  cold  and  dead, 

The  spirit's  peace  and  joy  have  fled." 

Religious  poetry  you  read — 
Dear  child,  't  will  never  n't  your  need ; 
The  battle's  front,  heroic  strife, 
Will  energize  and  fill  your  life. 
Dreamers  must  waken,  do  and  bear, 
If  they  the  crown  of  life  would  wear. 

My  stalwart  brother,  how  do  you 

Serve  Christ,  whose  love  is  strong  and  true  ? 

"I  make  a  prayer  whene'er  they  ask, 

Though  oft  it  proves  a  heavy  task. 

I  have  but  little  grace  of  speech — 

Others  can  edify  and  teach  ; 

I  help  to  pay  the  preacher's  clue, 

The  Sunday  school  I  aid  some,  too, 

And  ask  a  blessing  of  the  Lord, 

As  we  draw  'round  the  well  spread  board. 

Then,  mother  and  the  little  ones, 

Ere  daily  labor  is  begun  ; 

Sit  down,  and  I  a  chapter  read, 

That  seems  best  suited  to  our  need. 


SONGS  OF  HOPP:.  45 

Does  not  this  prove  my  trust  in  Him 
Who  died  to  ransom  us  from  sin  ?  " 

What  handmaids  feed  the  altar's  fire — 
Duty  or  Love,  Faith  or  Desire  ? 
Art  patient  when  things  all  go  ill  ? 
Canst  sacrifice -both  wish  and  will? 
"For  love  of  Me  take  up  the  cross. 
And  yon  shall  never  suffer  loss," 
Said  Christ.     Brother,  this  is  the  test — 
If  we  can  stand  it,  each  knows  best. 

Sinner,  wouldst  thou  l^ave  speech  with  me  ? 

I  am  truly  glad  to  welcome  thee. 

"  I  think  I  love  Him  you  call  Lord, 

But  don't  obey  His  written  word  ; 

His  claims  press  home,  I  slight  His  grace, 

And  turn  from  the  beseeching  face. 

The  world  bewilders  ;  sin  and  strife 

Unfit  me  for  a  holy  life  ; 

And  so  I'm  drifting,  drifting  still. 

The  victim  of  my  own  free  will." 

Christ  was  the  victim ;  He  can  cure 

This  lack  of  love,  and  make  you  pure  ; 

The  way  of  truth  you  plainly  know 

But  in  that  way  you  will  not  go. 


$ 

46  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

Dear  calm  eyed  saint,  you  love  the  Lord, 
I  know,  before  you  speak  a  word. 
u  I  love  Him  for  His  love  of  me, 
I  love  Him,  for  He  makes  me  free. 
Faith's  wine  invigorates  my  soul, 
The  balm  of  charity  makes  whole 
Life's  ills.     I  let  it  freely  flow 
O'er  weaknesses  of  friend  or  foe. 

The  mantle  patience  wove  I  wear, 

And  lean  upon  the  staff  of  prayer ; 

My  zeal  is  fed  by  fires  that  glow 

Through  summer's  heat  and  winter's  snow; 

My  hair  is  bleached,  my  eyes  are  dim 

With  years  and  grief,  still  I  trust  Him 

Who  never  will  His  child  forsake, 

Though  hell  should  strive  my  faith  to  shake. 

1 11  triumph  in  a  few  days  more, 

And  stand  upon  the  other  shore  ; 

I  feel  the  glory  shining  through, 

And  soon  shall  see  all  things  made  new. 


SONGS    OF   HOPE.  47 


Afternoon  Talk. 


Y  daughter,  come  sit  beside  me, 

In  this  golden  afternoon  ; 
I  want  to  talk  of  the  risen  Lord  — 

Perchance  He  is  coming  soon. 
I'm  in  the  afternoon  of  life, 

My  sun  slips  down  the  sky  ; 
Only  a  little  while,  my  dear, 

Will  our  hands  in  each  other's  lie. 

Don't  cry,  my  child  —  that  wrings  my  heart; 

You  see,  when  our  work  is  done, 
We  roll  it  up  with  a  glad  content, 

And  sit  in  the  light  of  the  sun. 
Ah,  when  I  come  to  the  rolling  tide, 

The  Lord  will  hold  my  hand, 
Ere  I'm  aware  I'll  tread  the  shore 

Of  my  Immanuel's  land. 

I  think  if  Christ  came  down  with  a  shout, 
From  its  leash  my  soul  would  spring  ; 

Now  I  lie  like  a  fettered  bird, 
Yet  longing  to  plume  my  wing. 

If  He  does  not  come,  I'll  go  to  Him  — 


o — — 

48  SONGS  OF  HOPE. 

I  cannot  much  longer  stay ; 
This  poor,  worn  frame  is  too  small  a  cage- 
From  its  hold  let  me  break  away. 

I  have  been  climbing  all  my  life, 

But  only  of  late  I  stand 
On  Beulah's  hills,  where  one  can  see 

Right  into  the  Father's  land. 
So  many  have  gone  to  the  other  side, 

So  few  are  left  me  here  ; 
Oh,  how  I  long  for  the  harbor  of  rest — 

Would  you  hinder  my  journey,  dear  ? 

I  lift  the  anchor  and  spread  my  sail, 

I  trust  and. let  go  my  hold  ; 
And  float  away  to  an  unknown  vale, 

Where  one  never  grows  tired  or  old. 
Watch  my  bark  and  see  it  speed, 

Out  of  the  reach  of  your  eye  ; 
You  are  my  child,  but  I  am  God's — 

Good  bye,  my  darling,  good  bye. 


, © 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  49 


The  Ministry  of 


4|f  WAS  so  very  tired  and  wanted  Rest, 
T     I  longed  to  la}7  my  head  upon  lier  breast, 
So,  softly  called  for  her,  she  did  not  come, 
And  then  I  cried  for  Peace,  but  she  was  dumb. 

Yet  one  came  in  and  sat  close  by  my  side; 
"I  do  not  want  you  here,"  I  wildly  cried, 
;'  I  have  enough  to  bear,  and  you  are  Pain; 
You  will  increase  the  heat  in  my  poor  brain." 

She  touched  my  burning  brow,  and  said,  u  Poor  child, 

God  sent  me  here  to  sit  a  little  white  ; 

Now  close  your  weary  eyes  and  hear  my  song, 

I  may  not  tarry  here  so  very  long." 

I  did  her  bidding  ;  ah,  you  should  have  heard, 
The  music  that  she  made  was  like  a  bird  ; 
She  sang  about  the  Lord  ;  He  moaned  and  cried  — 
Pain  was  the  angel  then,  close  by  his  side. 

She  sung  about  the  throng  that  had  gone  up, 
And  every  one  of  these  drank  from  Pain's  cup, 
They  deeply  drank,  but  then  they  left  the  night, 
Their  whitened  souls  escaped  into  the  light. 


50  SONGS   OF    HOPE. 

The  song  was  over  and  I  was  alone, 
I  cannot  tell  you  where  sweet  Pain  had  flown  ; 
No,  not  alone,  the  Christ  looked  in  my  eyes, 
And  said,  "  I  come  for  you  my  child,  arise." 

"  Ah,  Master,  let  me  stay,  for  I  would  tell, 
Pain  is  thy  servant  sent,  she  doeth  all  things  well. 
u  Then  you  may  stay  awhile,  there's  work  to  do, 
Be  ready  when  I  come  again  for  you." 


Trastmg. 

( YER  head  the  sky  is  gray, 

Underneath  God  lights  the  way  ; 
He  shows  my  feet  the  path  to  tread — 
What  care  I,  with  God  o'erhead  ! 

Underneath  the  gloom  and  storm 
Hides  a  strong  and  loving  arm  ; 
Trusting  in  that  love  I  go, 
Fearing  nothing  here  below. 

If  he  sends  me  pain,  'tis  best — 
After  anguish  cometh  rest ; 
Should  He  give  me  songs  to  sing, 
Still  I  hide  beneath  His  wing. 


SONGS   OF   HOPE.  51 

The  sun  shines  on,  although  we 
Half  the  sunbeams  do  not  see  ; 
Before  the  sun  is  in  the  sky 
Songs  of  birds  ascend  on  high. 

Before  the  snow  has  left  the  earth 
Flowers  are  stirring  fur  their  birth  ; 
If  the  small,  brown  seed  can  hold 
Prisoned  in  its  tiny  fold 

Germs  of  life  and  beauty  rare, 
Know  that  in  ourselves  we  bear 
A  germ  that  at  God's  word  can  spring 
Into  wondrous  blossoming. 

I  bide  my  time  and  patient  wait. 
Lying  low  before  God's  gate ; 
When  it  opens,  I  shall  be 
Changed  for  all  eternity. 

Off  will  drop  my  grief  and  care — 
Shining  garments  I  shall  wear ; 
Waiting  on,  I'll  sing  my  song, 
For  the  waiting  won't  be  long. 


52  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


The  <3edar  Tree. 

stands  by  my  gate  a  cedar  tree, 
Spicy  and  green  the  whole  year  through  ; 
]X"ow  it  is  preaching  a  sermon  to  me, 

As  I  sit  out  here  in  the  dark  and  the  dew. 
The  summer  lies  dead  upon  the  hill, 

But  the  cedar  tree  so  thick  and  so  tall, 

Is  reaching  her  green  arms  upward  still, 

In  spite  of  the  biting  frost  of  the  fall. 

The  cricket  is  chirping  his  slumber  song, 

The  babes  have  said  over  their  prayers, 
And  I  shall  be  dreaming  ere  very  long, 

.Released  from  my  toils  and  my  cares. 
But  the  cedar  tree  the  whole  night  through, 

Will  be  waking  and  watching  the  sky ; 
Be  breathing  her  balm  and  catching  the  dew. 

God  sendeth  to  her  from  on  high. 

His  children  should  be  like  my  cedar  tree, 
Ever  fragrant  and  evergreen  too  ; 

This  is  the  message  given  to  me, 
And  now  I  repeat  it  to  you  : 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  53 

Reach  up  your  arms  although  it  be  night, 

The  blessings  are  falling  like  dew, 
Though  the  storm  be  abroad  in  all  of  its  might, 

God  is  able  to  carry  you  through. 


Nature's  Prophecies. 

GAIN  I  sit  in  my  cottage  door — 

The  night's  soft  footstep  is  on  my  floor — 
Her  dusky  mantle  sweeps  to  my  feet, 
The  touch  of  her  hand  is  cool  and  sweet ; 
She  is  proudly  decked  with  moon  and  star, 
That  flash  from  silvery  heights  afar. 
Prophets  so  sweet  of  the  coming  day, 
My  thoughts  uprise  and  they  soar  away  ; 
I  sit  in  your  light  and  build  my  dream, 
While  angels  sing  across  the  stream. 
Ah,  golden  the  strands  with  which  I  weave ! 
Golden  the  hopes  to  those  who  believe. 
What  prophecy  rare  will  nature  send, 
To  teach  us  ot  the  glorious  end  ? 
A  cloud  once  caught  the  Lord  from  our  sight — 
"He  cometh  with  clouds,"  to  end  our  night. 
Sweet  Jesus,  lift  me  up  to  thy  breast, 
The  spirit  within  me  faints  for  rest. 


54  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

I  never  look  to  a  white  cloud  drift 
But  fancy  whispers  ;  the  vail  may  lift, 
And  Jesus  look  down  with  love  lit  eyes, 
Drawing  me  up  to  Him  in  the  skies  ; 
To  meet  the  Lord  I  will  plume  my  wing — 
'T  is  a  sweeter  hope  than  angels  sing. 

He  will  come  again  to  set  us  free — 

The  Savior  they  nailed  upon  the  tree  ; 

The  poor  pierced  side,  and  the  blood-stained  feet — 

I  kiss  the  wounds,  it  is  homage  meet. 

"He  cometh  with  clouds."     "Oh,  Lord,  how  long?" 

Let  this  be  the  burden  of  my  song. 

Mine  is  the  simple  trust  of  a  child, 
You  may  say  my  thought  is  dim  and  wild, 
That  deeper  meanings  I  hide  and  mar  ; 
I  sit  by  rush  light — you  by  a  star. 
No  matter,  it  has  the  same  sweet  end, 
For  Jesus  will  come,  the  sinner's  frienJ 


SONGS   OF   HOPE.  55 


Redemption  L>raweth  Nigh. 

i 

•Ci    WONDERFUL  vision  was  given  to  me — 
<^P"     It  came  on  the  wings  of  the  morning  ; 
The  stars  had  withdrawn,  and  the  first  rosy  flush 
The  sky  in  the  east  was  adorning. 
A  voice  of  silver  sweetness 

Comes  to  me  from  on  high  : 

"Look  up,  you  saints  of  Jesus, 

Redemption  draweth  nigh." 

This  glorious  message,  and  virgins  asleep  ! 

Wake  up !  for  the  bridegroom  is  nearing  ; 
Trim  your  lamps,  gird  your  robes,  be  ready  to  greet 
Our  Lord,  if  ye  love  his  appearing. 
The  herald  still  keeps  sounding, 

Oh,  heed  the  tender  cry  : 
"  Look  up,  ye  saints  of  Jesus, 
Redemption  draweth  nigh." 

Is  the  bride  made  ready  in  garments  of  white  ? 

Does  sJie  know  her  Husband  draws  nearer  ? 
That  virgins  are  out  with  lamps  burning  bright. 

And  the  voice  of  the  herald  sounds  clearer? 


0 : 

56  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Oh,  hark  !   I  hear  the  trumpet  blow, 

Swing  back  the  gate  on  high ; 
"  Look  up,  ye  saints  of  Jesus, 

Redemption  draweth  nigh." 

b 
The  marriage  supper  is  already  spread 

For  the  guests  who  are  joyfully  singing ; 
This  feast  of  the  Lord  where  the  wine  shineth  red- 
'Tis  no  wonder  high  heaven  is  ringing. 
Put  on  your  robes  of  whiteness, 

For  brighter  grows  the  sky  ; 
"'  Look  up,  ye  saints  of  Jesus, 
Redemption  draweth  nigh." 


The  Gate  of  IPrayer. 

'HE  hand  of  a  babe  may  swing  it, 

But  all  of  the  mighty  throes 
Of  the  mighty  Father  above  us, 

Cannot  the  gateway  close. 
The  weakest  soul  may  shut  it, 
Made  strong  by  its  unbelief, 
Open  it  flies  when  touched  by  the  hand 
Of  the  penitent,  dying  thief. 

m — : : © 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


My  Jesus  He  gave  a  promise — 

I  came  to  the  gate  of  prayer ; 
With  trembling  touch  upon  the  latch, 

I  plead  my  promise  there. 
44  Whatever  thou  wilt,"  He  told  me, 

I  am  pleading  in  His  name — 
The  bolts  fly  back  as  though  just  touched 

By  a  tongue  of  heavenly  flame. 

According  unto  Thy  will  I  call, 

Believing  Thou  wilt  not  deny  ; 
Thou,  who  hearest  the  wild  bird's  noteT 

Will  list  to  my  trusting  cry. 
So  I  am  patiently  waiting, 

Till  the  gateway  will  unroll, 
The  Father  my  answer  will  hand  out 

The  gift  of  a  human  soul. 

The  soul  I  will  reach  back  again 

Into  the  hands  of  the  Lord, 
For  surely  I  can  trust  the  One 

Who  never  can  break  His  word. 
E'en  while  at  the  threshold  I'm  kneeling, 

There  trembles  along  the  air, 
"  To  him  who  loves  and  keeps  my  law, 

I  will  give  the  answer  of  prayer." 


58  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Up  to  the  gateway  is  crowding, 

The  babe  with  its  curls  of  gold, 
The  white-haired  man  who  is  traveling  on 

With  the  Lamb  to  the  upper  fold ; 
The  mother  who  mourns  with  Rachel, 

The  man  that  is  weary  of  sin — 
Crowding,  crowding,  by  day  and  night — 

Can  all  of  these  prayers  get  in  ? 

Can  the  merciful,  patient  Father 

Pick  out  my  agonized  plea  ? 
So  many  are  pressing,  pressing  along, 

I  wonder  will  He  see  me  ? 
The  child  lisps  its  "  Now  I  lay  me," 

With  never  a  question  or  doubt ; 
If  I  bow  with  a  child  like  spirit, 

My  cry  He  will  never  shut  out. 

The  invalid  in  her  chamber, 

Cries  over  and  over  again, 
"Jesus  who  hung  on  Calvary's  tree, 

Give  me  relief  from  this  pain." 
And  if  the  pain  is  slow  to  go, 

The  peace  of  the  Lord  comes  down ; 
The  heavy  cross  of  suffering 

Is  changed  to  a  golden  crown. 


SONGS   OF    HOPE.  59 

Think  you  the  ear  of  the  Lord  grows  dull, 

That  the  pitiful  heart  can't  feel 
For  the  lowliest  of  His  children, 

Who  there  by  the  gateway  kneel  ? 
Eejoice  and  pray  without  ceasing, 

The  hour  of  your  triumph  will  come ; 
My  Father  loveth  the  trusting  heart, 

And  pities  the  lips  that  are  dumb. 


The  Sea  and  the  lighthouse. 

life  is  a  troubled  ocean,  dear, 
There  is  always  an  under  swell 
That  whispers  of  storm  and  commotion,  dear, 

But  we  yield  to  its  magical  spell, 
And  drift  away  on  a  summer  sea — 

Go  out  on  a  sun  necked  tide  ; 
We  plan  to  come  back  at  evening  time 
To  the  shore— but  the  ocean  is  wide. 

We  list  to  the  siren's  wooing  song, 

And  we  drift  and  drift  away, 
And  we  never  come  back  to  that  olden  shore 

We  left,  on  that  blue  summer  day. 


60  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Our  shore  is  baby's  cradle,  dear, 

The  other  eternity's  rim, 
And  our  life  has  only  begun,  my  dear, 

When  we  anchor  the  boat  with  Him 

Who  holdeth  the  foaming  sea  in  His  hand, 

And  watcheth  the  infant's  sleep  ; 
So  I  sing  and  trust  while  floating  along, 

"I  am  one  of  the  dear  Lord's  sheep." 
There  are  sunken  rocks  and  breakers  ahead, 

I  list  to  their  sullen  roar, 
And  lift  my  eyes  to  the  gleaming  light, 

That  stands  on  the  other  shore. 

Mariners  plowing  life's  foaming  sea, 

On  the  highest  point  of  bliss 
The  lighthouse  stands  ;  steer  straight  ahead, 

The  harbor  you  cannot  miss. 
Some  shining  wave  will  bear  you  in, 

When  the  even  tide  has  come, 
And  on  the  shore  our  friends  will  wait, 

To  welcome  us  safely  home. 


SONGS    OF  'HOPE.  61 


<3rapes  of  E^schol. 

T  the  borders  of  the  Promised  Land, 

Where  Jordon  spreads  her  shining  sand, 
They  camped  along  the  river  side, 
And  saw  beyond  the  river's  tide 
The  grapes  of  Eschol  hanging  fair ; 
But  even  then  they  did  not  dare 
To  enter  in  and  boldly  eat. 

They  sent  the  spies  across  to  bring 
The  purple  globes  that  climb  and  cling 
Upon  Judea's  sunny  hills. 
And  all  their  musky  fragrance  spills 
As  incense  on  the  sun-steeped  air ; 
They  longed  to  taste,  but  did  not  dare, 
To  cross  the  Jordan  with  their  feet. 

Not  faith  enough  to  keep  the  track, 
And  so  the  dear  Lord  turned  them  back ; 
EschoPs  sweet  grapes  they  could  not  win, 
Because  they  feared  to  enter  in. 
How  oft  we  stand  and  look  across 
To  Paradise  and  count  the  cost, 
And  to  the  desert  turn  again. 


©— • 

62  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

And  jet  how  often  we  might  eat 
The  fruits  of  "  Buelah  Land,"  so  sweet ; 
The  spies  bring  back  the  clusters  rare, 
They  gather  in  our  nights  of  prayer  ; 
Come  let  us  linger  on  the  shore, 
Until  we  cross  the  River  o'er, 
And  lose  each  earthly  stain. 

O,  Eschol's  grapes,  I  press  thy  wine, 
Till  all  these  border-lands  of  mine 
Grow  sweeter,  fairer,  as  I  drink ; 
My  feet  but  linger  on  the  brink 
Of  Jordan's  bank ;  I  soon  will  go 
Beyond  the  River's  narrow  flow, 
To  Heaven's  emerald  plain. 


Touch  and  be  Healed. 

(WAS  searching  my  thoughts  one  idle  day, 
For  something  to  braid  together, 
That  would  help  the  storm-tossed  souls  to  bear 

The  stress  of  life's  cloudy  weather  ; 
For  the  winds  will  roar,  arid  the  rains  will  pour, 

The  skies  are  not  always  smiling ; 
Come  sit  by  my  lamp,  the  curtain  is  down, 
And  love  the  long  hours  is  beguiling. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  63 

How  precious  is  life  when  God  shuts -us  in, 

His  smile  transfigures  our  sorrow; 
We  lie  on  his  breast  contented  to-day, 

And  hia  blessing  awaits  us  to-morrow. 
Sometimes  we  think  it  has  come  to  an  end — 

'We  have  no  more  strength  for  the  climbing, 
Strong  arms  are  beneath  and  they  lift  us  up, 

The  rounds  of  God's  ladder  are  shining. 

One  day  the  Lord  was  entreated  to  come, 

Where  a  dear  little  girl  was  lying ; 
This  was  the  father's  pitiful  plea, 

"  Come  and  heal,  my  daughter  is  dying." 
Lo !   as  he  went  on  his  mission  of  love, 

The  crowd  all  around  him  thronging, 
A  woman  came  up  in  the  press  behind, 

Unspoken  her  hope  and  her  longing. 

She  touched  but  the  hem  of  His  garment  in  faith, 

When  virtue  went  out  for  her  healing  ; 
Trembling  she  came,  confessing  her  act — 

In  fancy  I  now  see  her  kneeling ; 
And  seeing,  I  call  to  the  worldweary,  come, 

Touch  the  hem  of  his  garment  in  gladness; 
Bowed  down  to  the  earth — he  will  lift  you  up, 

Sick  at  heart — he  will  cure  your  sadness. 


64  SONGS  OF  HOPE. 

I  would  rather  go  in  the  strength  of  the  Lord- 
Tims  reaching  my  rest  in  the  mountain — 

Would  rather  be  fed  by  a  raven  to-day, 

Than  drink  from  earth's  sweetest  fountain, 

If  else  I  would  miss  the  wonderful  (ouch, 
Of  healing  forever  and  ever. 

Light  all  afflictions  will  seem  in  our  eyes, 
When  we  have  crossed  over  the  river. 


Slipping  Away. 

^•LIPPING  away,  the  singers  and  saints, 
^T      Through  the  beautiful  gates  of  pearl, 
And  still  we  sit  on  the  shady  side, 
And  watch  them  go  out  on  the  shining  tide 
That  bears  them  to  the  Savior's  side. 
Far  away  from  time's  mad  whirl. 

Slipping  away,  like  the  scarlet  leaf 

Thrown  down  on  the  river's  breast, 
The  weaver's  thread  has  found  its  place, 
The  arrow  has  hit  its  mark  with  grace, 
A  smile  illumines  the  dear  Lord's  face, 
For  his  saints  have  entered  their  rest. 


: — 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  ®5 

'Slipping  away  to  the  bright  beyond, 

As  the  song  of  the  birds  goes  by  ; 
"Their  lives  still  freight  this  lower  air, 
They  have  lightly  dropped  their  robes  of  care. 
And  climbed  away  by  a  golden  stair, 

Beyond  the  amethyst  sky. 

Stars  never  set  in  God's  wide  sky, 

But  burn  eternally  bright. 
Aye,  we  may  weep,  but  angels  sing 
Till  heaven's  highest  vault  will  ring, 
And  saints  fly  home  with  buoyant  wing, 

Where  their  faith  is  turned  to  sight, 

Slipping  away  as  the  years  go  by, 

Into  the  white  forever  ; 
But  all  of  their  work  has  not  been  done, 
And  all  of  their  songs  have  not  been  sung, 
They  could  not  be  by  human  tongue— 

We  will  hear  them  over  the  river. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


Wayside  Journey, 

jf  WAS  traveling  on  the  wayside, 
^     Under  a  broiling  sun, 
Wishing  my  task  was  ended, 
Wishing  my  journey  done  ; 
Yes,  long  and  lonely  and  weary, 

My  way  through  the  burning  sand — 
Was  there  no  other  path  that  led 
Into  the  Father's  land? 

I  overtook  a  winsome  babe, 

Its  eyes  like  heaven's  blue, 
A  smile  about  the  rosy  mouth  ; 

Before  I  hardly  knew 
I  bent  to  kiss  the  little  one, 

For  Jesus  was  a  child  ; 
My  wish  was  changed  :  Oh,  let  me  be 

Like  Christ,  the  undefiled. 

A  little  farther  on  I  came 

To  one  so  faint  and  weak 
That,  as  I  bent  above  his  form, 

He  had  no  power  to  speak. 


g — • •  T^""" 

SONGS   OF   HOPE.  67 

I  gave  him  from  my  Itttle  store, 

And  wiped  his  damp'ning  brow, 
But  even  as  I  strove  he  died — 

No  pain  could  touch  him  now. 

His  passing  soul  had  op'd  a  gate, 

And  left  it  half  ajar  ; 
A  glory  shone  upon  my  way 

From  Bethlehem's  lonely  star. 
So  I  journeyed  along  the  wayside, 

Finding  the  sick  and  sad, 
Always  I  found  a  word  in  my  heart 

To  make  the  mourner  glad. 

It  was  the  gentle  Lord  Himself, 

In  every  new  disguise  ; 
I  grew  so  glad  this  was  the  path 

That  led  up  to  the  skies. 
Before  I  was  aware,  I  came 

Unto  my  journey's  end, 
And  there  He  stood  to  welcome  me, 

My  Savior  and  my  Friend. 

He  swung  the  gate  and  let  me  in 

To  perfect  peace  and  rest, 
And  now  I  sing  with  joyful  heart  — 

The  Lord  He  knoweth  best. 


68  SONGS   OF    HOPE. 

He  guided  o'er  the  toilsome  way, 

He  counted  every  tear ; 
I'm  safe  at  home,  yes,  safe  at  home, 
And  free  from  pain  or  fear. 


A  Song. 

(WILL  flee,  a  wounded  dove, 
To  the  mountains  of  God's  love; 
Hide  me  in  the  clefted  rock, 

From  the  world's  wild  tempest  shock — 
Seal  me,  Christ,  Thy  very  own, 

Anchor  me  fast  to  the  throne. 
Shown  myself,  I  fled  away, 

Out  of  night  into  the  day  ; 
Shown  my  Lord,  I  now  desire 

Heart  and  brain  be  set  on  fire, 
Just  to  do  the  Master's  will — 

When  death  comes,  to  praise  Him  still. 
I  am  weak,  but  Thou  art  strong — 

Bear  me  through  the  pressing  throng 
Of  life's  cares  and  bitter  grief; 

Let  me  ever  find  relief, 
Looking  to  the  heights  sublime, 

Just  beyond  the  shores  of  time. 


© 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  69 

Drop  into  my  life,  sweet  trust, 

Write  my  name  among  the  just ; 
Make  me  pure  in  heart,  my  King, 

And  Thy  praises  I  will  sing, 
While  supplies  of  grace  come  down, 

Guiding  me  from  cross  to  crown. 


Treasures. 

'HE  fair  pictured  face  of  my  boy, 
The  robes  that  are  folded  away, 
The  playthings  that  never  are  used, 
Since  our  darling  grew  tired  of  play. 

A  little  red  cup,  with  the  seal 

Of  little  red  lips  on  its  rim, 
Two  worn  shoes,  where  pretty  white  feet 

Like  pretty  white  mice  crept  in. 

A  tress  of  brown  hair  that  was  cut 

From  the  locks  of  my  sweet  baby  son  ; 

A  short  little  mound  where  he  sleeps, 
Since  his  beautiful  life  is  done. 


e 


70  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

But  of  all  my  treasures,  the  best 
Is  my  treasure  laid  up  in  heaven, 

Where  my  baby  is  waiting  for  me, 
Till  life's  silver  cord  be  riven. 

In  fancy  I  oft  hear  the  rush 

Of  swift  angel  wings  as  they  come ; 

I  linger,  and  long  for  the  call 

That  summons  the  tired  mother  home. 


Soaring  and  Smgmg. 


walking  in  the  meadow  ground, 
Just  at  the  break  of  day, 
The  hush  unbroken  by  a  sound, 
The  sky  half  pearl,  half  gray, 
The  rank  lush  grasses  were  empearled 

With  heavy  drops  of  dew  — 
One  might  have  thought  this  big  round  world 
Just  made,  it.  seemed  so  new  ; 

When,  swift  there  whirled  up  from  my  feet 

A  yellow  breasted  lark  ; 
So  God  had  kept  you  safe,  my  sweet, 

Through  all  the  hours  of  dark  ; 


SONGS   OF    HOPE.  71 

And  now  you  raise  a  matin  hymn, 

Still  singing  as  yon  fly  ; 
I  lose  you  in  the  distance  dim, 

Against  the  morning  sky. 

But  liquid  notes  come  falling  down, 

That  soothe  my  heart  to  rest ; 
I  weave  the  music  in  my  crown, 

Dear  little  yellow  breast. 
My  soul  shall  learn  from  you  to  sing, 

For  I  am  soaring  too  ; 
And  to  the  Father  I  will  bring 

The  trust  I  learned  from  you. 

Soaring  and  singing  all  the  time, 

I  higher,  higher  rise  ; 
And  weave  the  measure  into  rhyme, 

To  drop  adown  the  skies. 
O  may  it  lodge  along  the  ways, 

Teach  other  hearts  to  sing, 
Until  the  earth  is  filled  with  praise, 

Until  the  heavens  shall  ring. 

God  sometimes  stirs  the  heart  with  pain 

To  find  a  hidden  sweet ; 
The  fountain  pierced  will  rise  again, 

To  flow  around  His  feet. 


G . —  Q 

'2  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Sometimes  the  sweetest  song  you  hear 

Comes  from  a  bleeding  heart ; 
The  major  notes  are  full  of  cheer, 

The  minor  make  tears  start. 

You  crush  the  rose  for  its  perfume — 

God  knows  what  he's  about, 
And,  if  He  put  us  in  the  fire, 

At  last  will  take  us  out. 
Even  the  diamond  must  be  cut 

To  make  its  luster  shine, 
And  gold  itself  will  show  but  din* 

Until  it  is  refined. 


E>ay  is  Breaking.. 

,  sing,  sing,  O  break  ye  into  singing, 
The  heavens  and  the  earth  will  very  soon  be  ringing  £ 
I  am  looking  up  on  high,  and  the  portals  of  the  sky 
Will  swing  upon  their  hinges  to  let  the  King  go  by. 

Praise,  praise,  praise,  O  break  ye  into  praising, 

The  multitude  in  glory  their  triumph  hymn  are  raising  ;; 

I  seem  to  catch  the  rhyme,  while  my  soul  is  beating 

time 
With  the  measure  of  the  music,  and  the  sky  begins  to. 

shine. 


e>- 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  ? 

Wait,  wait,  wait,  oh  weary  not  in  waiting, 

There  is  promise  of  the  morning,  the  day  will  soon  be 

breaking ; 

So  up  and  trim  your  light,  the  east  is  growing  bright, 
The  rosy  day  is  coming,  to  drive  away  the  night. 

Watch,  watch,  watch,  I  hear  the  Master  calling, 
And  all  adown  the  spaces  the  dust  of  stars  is  falling ; 
The  armies  of  the  sky  are  marshaling  on  high, 
"Behold  the  bridegroom  cometh."  O  don't  you  hear 
the  cry  ? 

Pray,  pray,  pray,  bend  down  unto  your  praying, 
The  spicy  winds  of  heaven  are  'round  about  you 

playing ; 

The  gateways  are  ajar,  naught  can  his  purpose  bar, 
'T  is  the  glinting  and  the  gleaming  of  Bethlehem's  old 

star. 


Z/ump  of  <31ay. 

a  little  lump  of  clay, 
And  it  lies  in  the  potter's  hand ; 
He  looks  at  it,  he  looks  at  the  wheel, 
With  its  burnished  edge  of  sharpened  steel. 


74  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

Knows  how  the  cruel  touch  will  burn, 
Yet  will  hold  it  down  and  turn  and  turn  ; 
Then  turn  and  turn  with  a  loving  touch — 
The  clay  will  break  if  ground  too  much. 

A  well  shaped  vase  made  from  the  clay, 
Again  't  is  poised  on  the  master's  hand  ; 
"  Good  wheel,  I  praise  thee  for  thy  share, 
But,  little  vase,  there  is  more  to  bear. 
Thrust  into  the  flames  that  brightly  glow — 
A  mighty  breath  on  the  fires  doth  blow — 
Dost  think  me  a  master  hard  and  stern, 
As  I  thrust  you  in  to  burn  and  burn  ?" 

Would  you  know  it  now  for  the  lump  of  clay 

That  lately  lay  on  the  potter's  hand  ? 

The  flames  grew  cool,  and  he  drew  it  out, 

Lovingly  then  he  turned  it  about. 

The  fire  had  given  an  added  grace, 

You  knew  by  the  smile  on  the  master's  face  ; 

What  if  the  vase  had  not  held  still 

While  the  cruel  fires  did  all.  their  will  ? 

Once  but  a  lump  of  moistened  clay, 

That  the  potter  could  toss  from  his  hand ; 

Now  it  is  touched  with  the  royal  dyes 

That  mock  earth's  bloom  and  mirage  the  skies. 


-  i 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

You  might  almost  think  the  bird  would  soar 
Out  from  the  vase  and  up  from  the  door ; 
A  monarch's  hall  it  is  fit  to  grace, 
Since  it  felt  the  wheel  and  the  fire's  embrace. 

Man  is  only  a  lump  of  clay, 

Till  the  Master  Potter  takes  him  in  hand ;     % 

To-morrow  will  come,  to-day  will  go, 

The  bud  of  the  rose  begins  to  blow. 

Then  wheel  of  "my  fate,  you  may  turn  and  turn, 

And  fires  of  love,  you  may  burn  and  burn; 

Some  must  command  and  some  must  obey — 

God  is  the  potter,  and  I  am  the  clay. 


75 


Orily  Z/eaves. 

Y  beautiful  four  years  old  darling 

Came  pattering  in  one  day ; 
"  O  mamma  !    I  want  to  go  gather 

For  you  a  lovely  boquet ; 
I  will  whisper  down  to  the  posies, 

And  they  '11  whisper  up  to  me — 
And,  mamma,  won't  that  be  funny? 
I  'm  as  happy  as  I  can  be  !" 


76  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Away  ran  my  brown  haired  darling ; 

My  cup  was  full  with  its  joy  ; 
God  was  so  good  and  so  loving, 

To  give  me  this  precious  boy — 
Good,  though  He  take  my  baby 

Back  into  His  bosom  again  ; 
f  would  trust  through  the  night  of  my  sorrow, 

Shall  the  clay  of  the  potter  complain  1 

The  sun  was  braiding  a  pattern 

Of  checkered  shadow  and  gold  ; 
As  it  sifted  atween  the  vine  leaves — 

And  here  is  my  laddie  so  bold, 
With  posies  so  sweet  for  mamma. 

I  gathered  them  out  from  his  hand, 
And  bent  to  kiss  the  smiling  mouth 

Of  my  baby  from  heaven's  land. 

I  heeded  his  innocent  prattle, 

How  "  the  flowers  were  all  in  bed," 
And  how  he  "  could  not  wake  them  up," 

So  he  "brought  me  some  leaves  instead." 
Yes,  only  leaves,  with  here  and  there 

A  common  and  worthless  weed ; 
I  felt  no  lack,  my  sweet  boy's  love 

Had  filled  my  heart's  deep  need. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  77 

He  wanted  to  please  me,  and  I  took 

His  loving  thought  for  me,  as  though 
He  had  brought  me  the  rarest  blossoms 

My  God  could  cause  to  blow. 
And  so  methinks  the  Father, 

If  we  go  with  a  handful  of  leaves, 
Will  kiss  us  upon  the  mouth,  and  judge 

By  the  love  that  each  inweaves. 


Thinking  and  Acting. 

EOPLE  are  thinking  the  grandest  thoughts, 

That  somebody  yet  must  work  out ; 
I  thank  the  man  that  sows  the  seed, 

And  rejoice  when  the  reapers  shout. 
The  world  is  our  field,  and  we  enter  in, 
For  a  fight  with  the  deadly  weeds  of  sin  ; 
But  whether  we  sow  or  whether  we  reap, 
May  Satan  never  find  us  asleep. 

If  we  could  think  till  our  hair  grew  white. 
Yet  sit  in  our  chair  from  morn  till  night, 
Would  the  world  grow  richer  for  all  the  care, 
Or  honor  us  more  for  our  silvery  hair  ? 


78  SONGS   OF   HOPE. 

No  ;  every  thought  must  have  its  wing, 
As  every  bird  has  its  song  to  sing ; 
The  bud  is  a  promise,  the  flower  the  deed 
To  prove  the  quality  of  the  seed. 

If  I  am  the  thinker,  O  find  me  feet 

To  run  and  perform  my  errands  sweet ; 

We  all  are  not  Christ's,  whose  garment's  hem 

Will  heal  the  disease  of  soul-sick  men  ; 

But  while  we  pour  in  the  oil  and  the  wine, 

'Tis  the  hidden  thought  makes  the  action  fine  ; 

I  may  give  the  beggar  a  crust,  and  he 

May  forget  the  crust,  yet  remember  me. 

Each  action  may  hold  so  much  of  love, 
'Twill  change  to  the  guise  of  a  holy  dove. 
There  are  naked  to  clothe  and  hungry  to  feed ; 
If  we  may  not  reap,  we  can  sow  the  seed. 
There  are  babies  who  need  a  mother's  breastr 
Mourners  to  comfort  who  long  for  rest ; 
There  are  tears  to  wipe  and  hands  to  hold, 
Though  the  ones  we  loved  are  still  and  cold. 


,Q 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  79 


3Toreshadowmgs. 

|^|  WHAT  do  you  think  old  Moses  saw, 

When  he  climbed  up  Pisgah's  mountain? 
Was  it  only  a  glimpse  of  the  promised  land, 
With  her  vine-clad  slopes  and  shining  sand, 

And  the  splash  of  some  sparkling  fountain  \ 

And  what  do  you  think  God's  children  see. 

As  they  stand  in  the  rift  of  the  ages  ? 
Is  it  only  a  view  of  the  stormy  sky, 
Or  do  they  hear  the  Bridegroom's  cry, 

Foretold  by  saints  and  sages  ? 

"There  is  no  change,"  the  scoffers  say, 

"  The  promise  of  Christ's  coming 
Is  but  a  myth  ;  the  Lord's  asleep, 
And  does  not  hear  His  children  weep  ;  " 
And  this  their  feeble  summing. 

Look  up,  weak  saints,  the  skies  will  break — 

I  feel  Him  drawing  nearer  ; 
For  all  the  forecasts  of  to-day 
But  tell  us  He  is  on  the  way— 

The  heavens  are  growing  clearer. 


o 

80  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Transition  times  are  these,  my  friends- 

We  stretcli  from  grace  to  glory ; 
I  trim  my  lamp  and  lift  it  high, 
For  well  I  know  the  Lord  draws  nigh  ; 
Then  sing  the  old  new  story. 


Beside  the  Stream. 

|||  SAT  on  the  western  shore  of  the  stream, 

T^     The  sun  and  my  life  were  both  running  low ; 

The  shimmering  waves  ran  on  like  a  dream, 

And  rythmic  winds  were  beginning  to  blow. 
The  sunshine  and  waves  met  in  sweet  embrace — 

My  thoughts  were  like  shallops  run  out  to  sea — 
To  the  westering  sky  I  turned  my  face, 

And  the  past,  like  echoes,  came  back  to  me. 

The  low,  sweet  ring  of  a  silvery  bell, 

That  swung  and  rung  in  my  childhood's  time, 
When  violets  worked  with  their  fragrant  spell, 

And  my  heart  kept  beat  to  the  bell's  clear  chime. 
The  fever  ran  high  in.  my  eager  youth, 

Ambition's  sharp  goad  was  pricking  me  on, 
While  mother  was  pointing  the  way  of  truth ; 

And  now  I  look  back  on  some  victories  won. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


81 


Oh  magical  tints  when  the  skies  are  blue, 

When  the  pulse  beats  high  and  the  brain  is  clear ; 
When  we  trust  in  man  and  trust  God  too, 

While  amaranths  crown  each  rolling  year. 
But  the  rolling  years  came  freighted  with  pain, 

And  death  dug  pits  just  under  my  feet  ; 
My  soul  stood  bare  in  a  pitiless  rain, 

And  I  tasted  of  gall  for  every  sweet. 

But  now  let  me  sit  by  the  still  river  side, 

The  sunshiny  hills  are  not  far  away ; 
My  fancies  sail  out  on  a  luminous  tide, 

To  anchor  at  last  in  heaven's  broad  bay. 
The  roses  that  budded  and  never  had  bloom, 

I  will  gather  beyond  the  dark  river ; 
The  hopes  that  rose  bright  and  set  in  the  tomb, 

Will  be  mine  in  God's  golden  forever. 


Song  by  the  Wayside. 

1|  AM  traveling  over  a  thorny  way. 
*     Higher  and  higher  I  climb, 
Out  of  the  darkness  and  into  the  day, 
My  toil,  my  tears  are  sublime. 


82  SONGS   OF    HOPE. 

There  are  wounds  for  my  hands  and  stings  for  my  feety 

Yet  upward  and  onward  I  go  ; 
The  iron  of  pain  in  my  soul  cutteth  deep, 

God  smiteth  me  blow  after  blow. 

He  is  carving  his  saint,  I  dare  not  complain, 

But  look  to  my  risen  Lord  ; 
This  fight  of  affliction  I  yet  must  maintain — 

Find  strength  in  his  cross  and  his  word. 

The  milestones  that  guide  to  the  city  of  God, 

Are  the  graves  where  my  darlings  lie ; 
The  faces  I  kissed  are  under  the  sod ; 

What  I  loved  cannot  ever  die. 

Sweet  Jesus  went  down  through  the  gate  of  the  tombr 
Rose  crowned  with  triumph  and  glory  ; 

All  the  Christ's  children  must  enter  its  gloomy 
In  heaven  we  we'll  tell  the  sweet  story. 

Of  the  wonderful  way  God  took  us  o'er, 

Till  we  changed  our  cross  for  our  crown  ; 
Methinks  I'm  nearing  that  sun  steeped  shore, 

Where  I'll  lay  my  burdens  down. 
Then  smite  me,  dear  Father,  but  love  me  still, 

Give  strength  for  each  added  blow ; 
Let  me  only  desire  to  do  thy  will, 

For  thy  way  is  right  I  know. 


SONGS   OF   HOPE.  83 

The  coward  flesh  may  shrink  and  may  moan, 

The  soul  will  look  up  with  a  smile ; 
The  shore  winds  of  heaven  have  over  me  blown, 

I'll  anchor  safe  after  awhile. 


E>own  in  the  Trenches. 

in  the  trenches,  and  lightning  leaped  from 
the  throat  of  the  guns  ; 
The  thunder  of  battle  was  bursting  over  our  husbands 

aud  sons; 
Down  in  the  hell  of  the  trenches,  thick  with  their 

sulphurous  smoke. 
Where  many  a  lad  kissed  death  on  the  mouth,  and 

many  a  brave  heart  broke. 

"Whether  blue  or  gray  was  the  jacket,  the  man  that  it- 
covered  lay  still ; 
No  blast  of  the  bugle  could  rouse  him,  no  whiz  of  the 

bullet  could  thrill ; 
Up  from  the  grime  of  the  trenches,  white  souls  were 

climbing  some  height, 
With  the  pean  of  victory  sounding,  these  heroes  went 

out  of  the  fight. 
If  God  has  care  for  the  sparrows,  that  fall  in  the 

woodland  or  plain, 


gl 

84  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Will  he  take  no  thought  for  the  brave  men,  cut  down 

like  the  ripened  grain  ? 
He  gathers  His  jewels  from  trenches,  as  well  as  the 

down  softened  bed ; 
The  man  proved  a  hero  while  living,  is  no  less  a  hero 

when  dead. 
Aye,-  soldiers,  I  look  in  your  faces — those  eyes  show  a 

flash  like  the  steel ; 
The  memory  of  the  warlike  days  has  fastened  you  with 

their  seal. 

I  knew  boys  that  went  from  the  hearthstone,  up  from 

the  mother's  knee, 
To  wear  the  blue  and  beat  the  drum,  the  tocsin  ol 

the  free  ; 
I  have  known  them  borne  out  oi  the  battle,  wounded 

and  spent  with  pain  ; 
For  them  the  reveille  hath  sounded — they  never  saw 

mother  again. 

Sound  a  pean  for  the  heroes 

Underneath  the  meadow  grasses  ; 
For  the  boys  that  now  are  resting 
In  the  gaps  of  mountain  passes. 
Blue  bird,  lark  and  red  breast  robin, 
Drop  your  songs  as  you  fly  over 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  85 

Lowly  mounds,  where  men  are  hidden, 

'Neath  the  scented  crimson  clover. 
All  ye  winds  so  softly  blowing, 

Bustle  wheat  and  wild  wood  blossom, 
Mother  earth  is  very  tender 

To  the  babes  within  her  bosom. 
Lincoln  flashed  some  milk-white  roadway, 

Out  of  pain  and  into  glory ; 
Garfield's  life  burned  out  with  fever, 

Like  some  tragic,  frightful  story. 
All  the  way  from  plain  to  headland, 

Bells  were  ringing  joy  or  sorrow  ; 
Tears  were  falling,  prayers  were  rising, 

God  was  ruling  each  to-morrow. 
Wreaths  of  bay  for  statesman  soldiers, 

Wreaths  of  flowers  for  all  the  others ; 
Men  who  dared  to  die  for  country, 

Crown  them,  crown  them,  men  and  brothers. 
Tears  may  change  to  pearls  and  diamonds, 

Cries  of  pain  to  joyous  singing  ; 
When  God  musters  out  His  army, 

Heaven's  vallies  will  be  ringing. 
Men  are  proud  of  banners  tattered, 

Won  in  stress  and  strain  of  battle ; 
Comrades  falling,  columns  shattered, 

And  for  music,  cannon's  rattle.- 


86  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Hark  !  I  hear  some  bugle  blowing ! 
Winds  from  somewhere  coming,  going, 
Set  the  tattered  flags  anying, 
Till  we  fain  would  cease  our  crying 
To  admire  the  rythmic  wonder. 
Fired  by  battle's  stormy  thunder, 
I,  the  poet  of  the  soldier, 
Rise  to  measure  grander,  bolder  ; 
Triumph  in  each  note  is  ringing, 
Peace  inspires  my  gladsome  singing. 
Clouds  retire,  the  battle's  over 
For  our  boys  beneath  the  clover. 
Roses  blow  and  bees  are  humming  ; 
Down  some  future  I  see  coming 
Ranks  of  victors  out  of  glory : 
This  shall  end  my  soldiers'  story. 


Flowers  and  IftTomen. 

||  STROLLED  into  a  shady  dell, 

T^     There  found  a  flower  and  loved  it  well ; 

A  modest  blue,  dewy  and  sweet — 

Had  one  but  crushed  it  'neath  his  feet. 

: : . -© 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


87 


The  perfume  from  its  grassy  bed 
Would  mutely  say,  ' '  The  flower  is  dead — ' 
A  voiceless,  yet  a  powerful  prayer, 
Floating  to  heaven  on  the  air. 

I  climbed  upon  the  mountain  top, 
The  winds  were  still,  the  sun  was  hot ; 
I  found  upon  the  mountain's  cone 
A  royal  bloom,  left  all  alone. 

«/ 

Its  cup  was  gold,  the  robe  of  flame, 
Yet  from  its  heart  no  perfume  came ; 
I  turned  me  from  the  gaudy  show, 
And  left  it  for  the  winter's  snow. 

Two  grades  of  women  here  behold — 
The  gracious  type,  the  grandly  cold ; 
One  lives  to  bless,  and  one  to  show 
Her  colors,  waving  to  and  fro. 

One  is  the  sunlight  of  a  home, 
The  other,  meteor  like,  will  come, 
And  flash  athwart  your  summer  sky- 
But  meteors  only  blaze,  then  die. 

Wise  men  will  gather  to  their  breast 
What  promises  content  and  rest ; 


88  SONGS    OF   HOPE. 

The  gentle  voice,  the  graceful  mien, 
Are  more  than  robings  of  a  queen. 

Fine  gold  will  wear  for  man}7  a  year, 
The  tinsel  ever  proves  most  dear. 
If  women  to  themselves  were  true, 
We'd  often  see  the  gown  of  blue. 


The  Midnight  <3ry. 

E  AD !     Our  soldier,  our  chief  and  our  friend. 

Oh,  birds,  stay  your  singing  to-day  ; 
Of  hoping  and  praying  can  this  be  the  end? 
A  voice  whispers  back  to  me,  nay. 

The  River  of  Death  rolls  its  waves 

In  a  flood,  close  up  to  our  feet ; 
We  are  weary  of  walking  'mong  graves, 

Our  hearts  they  so  heavily  beat. 

Oh,  Death,  you  have  shadowed  our  land, 
Grim  Monster,  both  cruel  and  bold  ; 

We  are  powerless  to  loosen  your  hand, 
You  grasp  with  a  purpose  to  hold. 


, ; , — 0 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  89 


Midnight.     Underneath  the  stars, 
Death  is  letting  down  the  bars ; 
Midnight,     Hear  the  bridegroom's  cry, 
Ring  adown  the  parted  sky  ; 
Swiftly  soars  the  loosened  soul, 
Underneath  the  church  bells  toll ; 
Sad  and  solemn  sounds  they  ring — 
,  Higher  up  the  angels  sing. 
Our  Chief  has  heard  the  Master's  call — 
For  us  the  wormwood  and  the  gall. 

Ah,  bells,  you  ring  a  ghastly  lie — 
Our  Garfield  was  not  born  to  die ; 
He  broke  the  fretted  leash  of  pain, 
You  cannot  call  him  back  again ; 
Beyond  the  stars  he  speeds  away, 
Out  from  the  midnight  into  day ; 
Then  mourning  bells,  ring  soft  and  low— 
You  sadly  tell  a  nation's  woe. 
I  strive  to  follow  with  my  eye, 
This  soul  that  speeds  beyond  the  sky ; 
Follow  a  soul?  'twere  easier  far 
To  behold  the  wind,  or  grasp  a  star. 
Mother,  your  "baby"  is  not  dead- 
He's  gone  to  live  with  God,  instead. 


90  SONGS   OF   HOPE, 

True  wife,  if  love  will  give  you  ease, 
Behold  a  nation  on  its  knees  ; 
Your  grief  is  ours,  and  while  we  weep, 
Christ  giveth  His  beloved  sleep. 
Freed  spirit,  let  me  say  good  night, 
And  speed  you  in  your  upward  flight ; 
But  in  some  other  clime  I'll  say, 
Good  morning,  friend,  'tis  break  of  day. 
The  midnight  gloom  has  passed  along, 
Creation  wakes  to  sing  her  song. 


faster  Hymn. 

HEIST  has  risen !     Hear  the  cry  ! 

Leave  the  earth  and  climb  the  sky ; 
Christ  has  risen  !   angels  sing, 
"Joy  of  earth  and  heaven's  King." 
Easter  morning  bursts  her  bars, 
Christ  has  soared  above  the  stars ; 
Lo,  the  stone  is  rolled  away — 
Night  has  given  place  to  day. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  91 


Powerless  watch  and  seal  and  stone — 
Christ  must  rise,  His  work  is  done  ; 
Only  angels  bide  within, 
Christ  has  triumphed  o'er  our  sin. 
Weeping  Mary,  dry  your  tears — 
Christ  is  risen —  dismiss  your  fears  ; 
Pure  white  lilies  haste  to  bring — 
Help  the  seraphs  while  they  sing. 

Christ  has  risen  !     Soul  grow  white  ; 
Christ  arose,  my  path  is  light ; 
May  He  lead  me  all  the  way. 
Ever  near  Him  let  me  stay. 
When  the  trump  of  God  shall  sound, 
Rousing  nations  underground, 
Victor  over  death  and  sin, 
Immortal  it  v  I'll  win. 


<3ommg  Home. 

HAPPY  mother  called  this  morn 

Across  the  alley  way, 
Good  morning,  neighbor,  I  am  glad 
'Tis  such  a  pleasant  day, 

Q 


92  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

For  Charlie's  coining  home,  you  see, 
He  has  been  gone  so  long, 

This  morning  when  I  left  my  bed 
My  lips  took  up  a  song; 

It  quite  surprised  the  mocking  bird, 

It  was  so  long  since  he  had  heard 
His  mistress'  voice  so  merrrily; 

Our  house  is  silent  as  the  grave. 
When  both  the  boys  are  gone  away 
What  can  the  mother  do  but  pray  ?" 

Ah,  neighbor,  you  have  struck  a  chord 

That  vibrates  in  my  heart, 
It  fills  me  with  a  sudden  pain, 

And  makes  the  hot  tears  start, 
For  both  my  boys  are  gone  away, 

They  left  their  mother's  breast  ; 
How  can  a  mother  bear  to  sing 

With  but  an  empty  nest  ? 

But  when  the  boys  are  coming  home, 
The  song  and  smile  are  quick  to  come  ; 
How  oft  I  stand  and  shade  my  eyes, 
Looking  away  toward  the  skies, 
Eager  to  catch  some  little  sign 
That  God  will  send  concerning  mine. 


•a 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


93 


Why  should  I  look  the  way  they  went  ? 

That  will  not  bring  them  back  ; 
My  boys  have  gone  to  see  the  King, 

Along  a  shining  track  ; 
But  they  are  coining  home  again, 

I'll  set  the  house  all  right, 
For  who  can  tell  but  what  my  lads 

Are  coming  home  to-night. 
And  when  I  hear  the  trumpet  blow, 
To  greet  them  swiftly  will  I  go, 
And  welcome  them  with  smile  and  song, 
My  boys  who  have  been  gone  so  long  ; 

Then  open  wide  both  heart  and  door, 

Our  sons  are  coming  home  once  more. 


A  Winter  Idyl. 

'HE  wind  is  tapping  at  my  door, 
With  dim,  uncertain  feeling; 
He  whispers  some  wierd  ancient  lore, 

That  to  my  ears  is  stealing. 
Gray  clouds  are  trooping  o'er  the  sky, 
The  storm  is  coming  by  and  by, 
While  clouds  are  marshaling  on  high, 
The  wind  harps  still  keep  pealing. 


94  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

The  winds  blow  east  and  winds  blow  west, 
The  birds  are  homeward  flying, 

As  I  fly  to  ray  Father's  breast, 
In  living  or  in  dying. 

When  lightnings  flash  and  thunders  roll, 

It  is  the  signal  for  my  soul 

To  quickly  seek  her  sure,  safe  goal, 
Where  Christ  will  stiil  my  crying. 

Here  conies  a  dash  of  icy  rain, 

Against  my  window  drumming; 
Nature  is  stirred  by  some  swift  pain, 

And  so  her  tears  are  coming. 
Nature  and  hearts  must  have  their  wayT 
The  sky  will  clear  some  other  day, 
We  must  endure  while  skies  are  gray — 
This  is  my  hasty  summing. 

Some  rain  comes  down  like  drops  of  balm, 

So  gentle  and  refreshing  ; 
Some  lives  are  full  of  summer  calm, 

Burned  with  the  sun's  hot  blessing; 
Yet  lives  drink  tears  like  showers  of  rain 
Only  to  bud  and  bloom  again, 
Or  else  stand  thick  with  golden  grain, 

To  woo  the  wind's  caressing. 


- 


m 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  95 

IPeace  and  <3ood  Will. 
CHRISTMAS  carol  I  joyously  sing, 

Of  the  beautiful  long  ago, 
The  heavenly  arches  then  did  ring, 

With  a  song,  whose  musical  flow 
Adown  the  grand  old  aisle  of  years 

Has  drifted  even  till  now ; 
It  calls  for  smiles,  it  calls  for  tears— 

Wreathes  glory  around  the  brow  ; 
'T  is  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men, 
A  glorious  theme  for  human  pen. 
One  beautiful  night  when  the  stars  were  out, 

And  shepherds  were  watching  their  flocks,. 
The  angels  came  down  with  a  ringing  shout, 

Heaven's  odors  in  their  bright  locks  ; 
They  came  to  chant  a  cradle  hymn 

For  the  baby  just  given  to  earth. 
No  distance  or  time  can  ever  dim, 

The  lullaby  sung  at  that  birth  ; 
'T  was  peace  on  earth  good  will  to  men, 
Too  grand  a  theme  for  human  pen. 
Did  the  wise  men  walking  over  the  hill, 

Their  eyes  on  the  guiding  star. 
Feel  the  soul  within  them  throb  and  thrill, 

As  they  heard  the  song  from  afar  ? 

, Q 


© , — 

96  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Knew  they  heaven  was  near  that  night, 

To  Bethlehem's  humble  town  ? 
Methinks  a  stable's  aglow  with  light, 

Since  the  Lord  of  glory  came  down 
With  his  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men, 
Inspiring  the  human  heart  and  pen. 
I  wonder,  did  Mary  raise  up  her  head, 

While  holding  the  child  to  her  breast  ? 
(No  matter  to  her  how  lowly  the  bed, 

She  was  Mary,  'inong  women  most  blest). 
Heard  she  the  song  that  is  filling  the  earth, 

And  filling  the  heavens  as  well  ? 
Did  the  heavenly  choir  fathom  its  worth, 

Or  know  the  wonderful  spell 
That  is  hidden  in  peace,  good  will  to  men, 

Melting  the  heart  and  ruling  the  pen  ? 
I  fancy  that  over  celestial  heights 

The  angels  are  now  looking  down, 
A  glorious  smile  each  face  uplights ; 

I  catch  the  rich  gleam  of  a  crown, 
And  just  beyond,  I  see  the  dear  face, 

The  luminous  face  of  my  King. 
Glory  comes  down  to  fill  this  place, 

The  heavenly  arches  ring 
With  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men, 
Sung  over  to-night  yet  once  again. 


o— — 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  97 


My  lyessor?,. 

H^TATUKE  is  teaching  me  lessons  so  sweet, 
fT  Here  is  the  one  she  taught  me  to  day  : 
The  sunshine  was  melting  around  my  feet, 

But  up  to  the  mountains  I  took  my  way ; 
Down  in  the  valleys  the  winds  were  still, 

Lillies  were  panting  for  breaths  of  air, 
But  breezes  were  blowing  up  on  the  hill, 

And  I  was  going  to  hunt  them  there. 

Winds  that  were  shaking  the  giant  tree, 

Blown  in  from  the  ocean,  out  from  the  west, 
Where  breakers  were  riding  their  white  horses  free, 

Tossing  the  ships  lightly  up  on  each  crest. 
Ah,  souls  that  are  lapsed  in  the  summertime's  calm, 

Who  have  no  need  for  a  shelter  or  shield ; 
Whose  days  are  set  to  some  low,  tender  psalm, 

What  of  the  souls  that  God  blows  afield  ? 

What  of  the  blossoms  hid  under  the  snow, 

Crimson  and  white,  yet  they  never  have  birth  ; 

Yet  the  winds  of  God  blow  high  and  blow  low, 
From  shore  unto  shore  across  the  broad  earth. 


98  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

When  winds  roar  loudest  the  oaks  take  root, 
When  fires  are  hottest  the  gold  will  shine ; 

The  pruned  trees  bear  the  finest  fruit, 

Round  lightning  scarred  trunks  the  ivy  will  twine. 

If  life  were  a  calm,  and  never  a  breeze 

Blew  in  from  eternity's  sea, 
Humanity  never  would  fall  on  its  knees, 

Or  long  for  the  life  giving  tree. 
The  vintage  is  ripened  by  winds  and  the  sun, 

The  clusters  of  grapes  turn  to  wine; 
And  the  lesson  that  I  from  the  hill  tops  have  won, 

I  must  master  it  line  upon  line. 


Rizpah. 

OULD  the  brush  of  a  Raphael  paint  the  scene  ?' 

Could  he  put  on  canvas  a  mother's  pain  ? 
Can  our  thoughts  so  subtle  grasp  the  theme, 

And  thus  picture  it  over  again  ? 
Till  a  listening  world  shall  catch  the  chime 
Of  this  story  lived  in  the  olden  time. 


'  - 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  99 

In  a  rocky  gorge  far  up  Juclea's  hills, 

Where  mountain  winds  blow  coolly,  purely  through, 
The  sombre  picture  grows — our  hearts  it  thrills 

With  pathos  old  and  yet  forever  new  ; 
Swinging  against  the  sky  are  Rizpah's  boys, 
What  careth  Rizpah  now  for  life's  poor  joys  ? 

See  !  There  upon  the  ban-en  rock  she  stands, 
Beating  the  hungry  vultures  from  their  prey ; 

Her  heart  is  aching,  .bleeding  are  those  hands, 
And  yet  she  keeps  the  fierce  eyed  birds  at  bay  ; 

The  orient  night  drops  down,  and  bears  along 

The  faint,  wierd  echoes  of  her  wailing  song. 

Through  all  the  solemn  night  she  watches  there, 
Her  two  sons  gently  swinging  to  and  fro, 

The  prowling  beast  she  drives  back  to  his  lair, 
And  thus  the  night  wears  on,  sadly  and  slow  ; 

The  rosy  morning  sweeps  aside  her  veil, 

Yet  still  goes  on  poor  Rizpah' s  mournful  wail. 

Her  purplish  hair  unbound,  the  mountain  air 
Toys  roughly  with  it,  and  anon  her  eyes, 

So  late  grown  heavy  with  her  pain  and  care, 
Are  like  a  jungle  tiger's,  those  fierce  cries 

Menace  her  silent  treasures  swinging  there, 

E'en  death  itself,  the  mother  love  would  dare. 


100  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

For  five  long  dreary  months  she  watched  her  dead , 

This  Hebrew  mother  in  the  olden,  time, 
And  since  those  days  how  many  hearts  have  bled, 

How  many  souls  climbed  up  the  heights  of  time, 
Pain  carving  out  the  steps  from  earth  to  God, 
For  all  He  loves  must  pass  beneath  the  rod. 

Poor  broken  hearted  ones  who  weep  to-day, 

Over  an  empty  cradle,  look  above  ; 
Your  darlings  have  gone  up  a  royal  way, 

And  all  the  track  is  silvered  o'er  with  love  ; 
But  ah,  our  eyes  are  blind  with  many  tears, 

We  have  no  strength  to  climb,  clogged  with  our  fears. 

Why  should  you  fear?    yet  you  must  climb,  or  miss     . 

The  babes  that  slipped  away  from  your  strong  hold  ; 
A  stronger  drew  the  ones  you  loved  to  kiss, 

And  now  they  safely  rest  within  the  fold. 
Rizpah's  two  sons  went  up,  and  so  have  mine ; 
I'm  searching  for  them,  and  I  still  must  climb. 


.-, 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


101 


<3rayon  Sketches. 

FAIR  young  mother  looked  with  pain 

On  the  face  of  her  suffering  child  ; 
"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  for  my  little  one, 

My  heart  with  anguish  is  wild  ! 
Here  comes  a  friend  that  will  tell  me  how 

To  give  you  speedy  relief, 
Then  mamma's  tears  will  change  to  smiles — 

Now  my  heart  is  wrung  with  grief." 
"  O,  give  the  baby  a  weak  gin  sling, 

It  is  only  the  cholic,  my  dear, 
I  have  always  found  it  was  just  the  thing 

For  my  babies,  so  be  of  good  cheer." 
Young  mother  you  play  with  a  dangerous  toy, 
This  whisky  toddy  may  ruin  your  boy. 

The  lovely  babe  was  grown  to  a  lad 

Who  came  running  in  one  day ; 
"My  son,  your  cheeks  are  so  hotly  flushed, 

You  work  too  hard  at  your  play." 
"No  mother,  its  not  the  play  this  time, 

You  see,  Mr.  A. .  on  the  street, 
Took  me  in  the  saloon  with  a  pleasant  smile, 

And  gave  me  a  little  treat ; 


102  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

I  believe  he  called  it  lager  beer, 
'T  was  a  filthy,  bitter  drink, 

And,  mamma,  my  head,  it  feels  so  queer, 
As  if  I  could  hardly  think." 

The  wind  was  sown  in  years  agone, 

And  lo,  the  whirlwind  sweepeth 


on. 


Along  the  street  walked  a  stalwart  man, 

The  dew  of  youth  in  eye,  on  brow, 
But  a  serpent  is  coiling  within  his  brain, 

He  fights  the  monster  with  throes  of  pain, 
Yet  tighter  and  closer  grows  the  strain ; 

The  tempter  conquers — he  yieldeth  now. 
"  Yes,  give  me  wine  to  quench  my  thirst, 

I  will  drink  and  be  merry  to-day ; 
Red  wine,  they  tell  me  you  are  a  curse, 

I  remember  how  mother  would  pray, 
O,  keep  my  boy  from  a  drunkard's  fate, 

But  now  the  siren  has  sung  her  song; 
The  spell's  upon  me,  too  late,  too  late  ! 

To  the  fatal  plunge  I  am  whirled  along," 
To  my  listening  ear  was  an  echo  given, 
It  came  from  above,  "No  drunkards  in  Heaven,' 

A  man  grown  old  before  his  time, 
Is  stretched  on  his  couch  to  die  ; 


SONGS   OF    HOPE.  103 

My  blood  grows  cold,  I  shudder  with  fear, 

As  I  list  to  the  agonized  cry  : 
•"  Why  don't  you  beat  back  those  fiends  of  hell  ? 

They  are  tearing  my  heart  from  my  breast, 
Have  pity  I  pray,  my  brain  is  on  fire, 

O,  I  am  so  tired,  let  me  rest. 
My  life  is  a  wreck,  so  heart,  beat  your  last, 

I  will  speed  me  away  in  the  night ; 
What  is  it  I  hear  ?  my  poor  mother's  prayer, 

Strong  drink  turned  my  steps  from  the  right.'' 
A  quivering  heap  sank  down  in  the  bed, 
The  victim  of  rum  before  me  lay  dead. 


Sleep. 

§||f  HEAKD  the  soft  beating  of  wings, 
^     As  the  angel  of  sleep  swept  down, 
She  bore  me  away  to  a  lovely  land, 
And  she  laid  on  my  brow  a  crown. 

There  was  healing  and  peace  in  the  touch, 
The  fountain  of  joy  in  my  breast 

Sprang  like  a  lark  from  the  meadow  grass, 
My  soul  half  unclothed  was  at  rest. 


-w- 

104  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Cherished  things  that  had  slipped  from  my  hold, 
Came  to  me  in  this  wonderful  land, 

The  baby  I  kissed  when  his  lips  were  cold, 
Tenderly  clung  again  to  my  hand. 

My  mother  came  vestured  in  light, 
The  pain  all  gone  out  of  her  eyes, 

She  had  caught  a  raptured,  glorified  look, 
From  her  dwelling  place  in  the  skies. 

"We  talked  of  the  woes  overpast, 
Of  the  triumph  she  lately  had  won, 

We  rejoiced,  and  we  gave  all  the  praise 
To  Jesus,  God's  crucified  son. 

I  seemed  to  be  drifting  away 

From  my  vision  so  rare  and  so  sweet  : 

I  woke  to  my  cares,  yet  was  glad  to  think 
My  loved  were  in  Jesus  asleep. 


i 


O : : ^ . ^ 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  105 

lyittle  Brown  Hen. 

€HE  little  brown  once  wanted  to  crow, 
t      The  little  brown  lien  could  not  make  it  go, 

Oh,  dear,  dear-a-me. 
What  was  the  reason,  do  you  suppose  ? 
The  crow  in  her  throat  was  almost  froze — 

It  did  n't  come  free. 

"  She  hasn't  a  voice,  that's  pretty  clear," 
Shouted  the  rooster  into  my  ear  ; 

The  rooster  is  wise. 

What  shall  I  do  with  the  little  brown  hen  ? 
Make  a  pot  pie  for  eloquent  men 

To  praise  to  the  skies. 
I  made  the  little  brown  hen  a  nest, 
Put  plenty  of  eggs  beneath  her  breast, 

But  that  did' nt  please. 
She  preferred  to  go  in  the  storm  and  wet, 
The  little  brown  hen  wasn't  ready  to  set ; 

She  flew  to  the  trees. 

There  she  essayed  a  wonderful  crow ; 
The  rooster,  down  on  the  ground  below, 

Cried,  "Try  it  again." 
The  little  brown  hen  flew  into  a  rage — 
44 1  tell  you,  I'm  as  fit  for  the  stage, 


And  have  as  much  brain 

£*  *  03T 

xMf*t*.*« 


106  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

"As  any  pert  rooster ;  you  know  it  is  true. 
It  is  perfectly  easy  to  cock-doodle-doo — 

Now  just  hear  me  try." 

The  young  hen's  grandmother  now  drew  near; 
"  Come  out  of  the  tree,  my  pretty  dear — 

How  well  you  can  fly. 

You  see  there  is  plenty  of  work  to  do, 

The  question  of  crowing  need  not  trouble  you  ; 

'Tis  only  a  noise. 

I  think  the  hens  do  as  much  good,  or  more, 
As  many  roosters  that  strut  'round  the  floor, 

To  be  aped  by  boys. 

Ci  You  had  better  attend  to  your  nest  and  eggs, 
For  in  them  are  beaks  and  long  yellow  legs. 

To  crow  in  due  time. 
You  and  the  rooster  each  have  a  place, 
'T  is  doubtful  which  will  win  in  the  race. 

Each  in  your  own  line. 

"  God  made  a  difference  in  His  plan 
Betwixt  the  woman  and  the  man  ; 

And  here  is  the  rest : 
He  made  the  woman  last,  my  dear, 
So  to  my  mind  it  is  pretty  clear 
The  woman  is  best." 


• O 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  107 

Indian,  Summer  is  E>ead. 

>HE  Indian  Summer  Maid,  with  purple  tinted  hair, 
With  her  wealth  of  golden  fruit,  that  scented  all 

the  air ; 

With  her  silver  harvest  moon  set  swinging  in  the  sky, 
Has  hid  herself  away  from  me,  nor  answers  to  my  cry. 
She  kissed  the  whispering  trees  till  they  blushed  in 

gold  and  red — 

My  pretty  Indian  Maiden,  she  surely  must  be  dead; 
She  dashed  her  ruby  wine  into  the  hazy  air, 
And  the  glory  of  her  presence  still  lingers  everywhere. 
Old  Winter,  grim  and  gloomy,  sits  howling  o'er  her 

grave — 
I  see  him  tear  his  whitened  hair,  and  hear  him  wildly 

rave ; 
The  brown  and  frightened  birdies  have  hidden  from 

his  grief — 

One  pities  Father  Winter,  but  cannot  give  relief. 
But  our  little  Indian  girl  will  surely  come  again — 
We'll  watch  for  her  in  April  days,  and  through  the 

Summer  rain ; 
When  the  Autumn  glory  comes  we  will  hear  her  gentle 

tread, 
For  God  will  keep  His  promise,  and  raise  her  from 

the  dead. 


108  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


LOVE  is  the  lever  that  moveth  the  world, 
God's  mercy  forever  to  man  is  unfurled  ; 
Sweet  winds,  tell  the  story  and  move  it  along, 
Fill  earth  with  His  glory  and  help  swell  the  song. 

Yes,  love  is  the  chorus  the  angels  will  sing, 
The  heavens  spread  o'er  us  will  joyously  ring; 
The  lips  of  the  mother  with  love  are  abloom  — 
Let  us  love  one  another  from  cradle  to  tomb. 

Love  breathes  on  the  roses  until  they  flush  red, 
'T  is  heard  in  the  closes  sung  over  the  dead  ; 
'Tis  the  wonderful  fashion  that  Jesus  brought  down, 
The  sign  of  God's  passion,  which  ends  with  a  crown, 

The  blessed  Evangel  once  given  to  earth, 
A  flaming  white  angel  that  heralds  new  birth  — 
Love  hopeth  and  beareth  when  stung  by  the  rod, 
Sure  that  somebody  careth,  and  that  love  is  God. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  109 


Broken  Shackles. 

Wilberforce  went  up  to  heaven, 
^Y     "With  broken  fetters  in  his  hand, 
He  suffered  long,  he  lived  and  died, 
But  grandly  blessed  his  native  land. 

And  evermore  'round  England's  shore, 
Methinks  is  girt  a  belt  of  glory, 

For  unborn  nations  he  will  write 
In  golden  lines  again  his  story. 

All  may  not  win  this  road  to  bliss, 
But  each  can  give  the  widow's  mite; 

'T  is  love  brings  dowrn  thd  scale  of  God, 
He  counts  our  deeds  sitting  in  light. 

Our  Lincoln  flashed  the  milky  way, 

That  hangs  betwixt  our  souls  and  bliss  ; 

Three  million  shackles  in  his  hand, 
And  Jesus  met  him  with  a  kiss. 

On  Calvary  the  savior  died, 

And  laid  before  his  Father's  throne 

The  chains  from  off  a  world  of  slaves — 
The  lily  of  G-od's  love  had  blown. 


HO  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

Down  in  the  noisome  slums  of  life 

I  see  so  many  hands  uplift, 
All  chained  ;  a  cloud  broods  over  them 

Its  inky  folds  without  a  rift. 

These  drunkards  left  to  die  and  rot, 
Like  carrion  on  God's  royal  earth  ; 

Where  is  the  man  to  do,  to  dare, 

And  give  them  back  the  free  man's  birth  ? 

So  many  hands  beat  at  these  chains, 
Until  their  own  are  bruised  and  sore, 

And  yet  they  hold,  deep  festering  in, 
As  years  go  by,  it  seems  the  more. 

They  eat  the  lives,  the  souls  of  men  ; 

Our  eagle  flyeth  low  and  slow. 
It  tires  its  wings  to  drag  this  load, 

Aye,  cut  him  loose  and  let  him  go. 

Up,  till  he  looks  God  in  the  face, 

Fearless,  and  stays  his  restless  flight, 

Freedom,  thrice  won,  will  hail  tbe  world  ; 
Our  land  must  climb  towards  the  right. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  Ill 


Warp  and  Woof. 

sweet  thought  wanders  through 
The  chambers  of  my  brain  ; 
I  catch  the  glint  of  silver  wings, 
Like  the  mist  of  summer  rain. 

Out  of  sorrow,  out  of  care, 

Life  brings  unto  our  door, 
We  may  weave  a  glorious  robe 

To  wear  when  life  is  o'er. 

Grieving  and  pain,  the  warp  ; 

The  woof,   God's  wondrous  grace  ; 
The  rare  design  we'll  comprehend, 

When  we  see  the  Father's  face. 

Now  a  jewel  is  inwrought, 

A ii on  a  jet  gleams  forth  ; 
Set  it  around  with  gems  of  light, 

And  make  it  of  priceless  worth. 

The  sharpest  pain  may  bring 

The  purest  joy  at  last ; 
Under  the  gray  the  sun  shines  still, 

Though  the  sky  be  overcast. 


0 ^ : Qj 

112  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

'T  is  a  wondrous  web  we  weave ; 

The  shuttle  flies  day  and  night, 
The  weaver  speeds  away,  away, 

To  the  land  of  boundless  light. 

Then  gather  silver  and  gold, 

For  you  the  robe  shall  wear, 
In  the  heavenly  courts  before  the  King, 

And  in  all  his  glory  share. 


The  Mother's 

IIS  only  a  little  girl  that  has  fled, 

Out  of  our  home  and  away  from  our  sight ; 
They  tell  me  our  dear  little  Ruth  is  dead, 

That  our  darling  has  turned  her  face  to  the  light. 

Only  six  years  old,  but  how  she  had  grown 

Into  our  lives  and  into  our  love  ; 
JSTow  I  stand  here  beside  her  making  my  moan, 

And  still  she  sleeps  on,  poor,  tired  little  dove. 

Baby,  wake  up,  for  mamma  has  come, 
To  gather  her  girlie  up  to  her  breast ; 

Unheeded  the  call,  to  our  grief  she  is  dumb, 
These  lips  are  so  cold  my  warm  ones  have  pressed. 


SONGS    OF    HOPr.  113 

IMy  brain  madly  whirls,  yet  my  eyelids  are  dry, 
Could  weeping  assuage  a  sorrow  like  mine  ? 

•So  far  from  me  gone,  and  yet  she  is  nigh, 

Sweet  Father  above,  she  is  mine — she  is  thine, 

Yes,  I  am  her  mother,  and  Kuthie  is  free 

From  sin,  pain  and  weeping,  her  conflict  is  o'er ; 

The  gift  was  divine,  I  commit  her  to  Thee, 
Till  I  claim  her  again  on  eternity's  shore. 

I'll  smoothe  back  the  hair  from  the  broad  white  brow, 
And  kiss  the  closed  eyes  whence  the  sunshine  has  fled  ; 

Frail  hands — they  cannot  hug  dear  mamma  now. 
Quiet  feet — yes,  John,  our  loved  one  is  dead. 

How  lovely  she  is — too  fair  for  the  tomb. 

Too  sweet  for  our  holding,  and  so  she  has  gone  ; 

Ever  more  in  our  hearts  is  one  empty  room, 
Till  we  hail  her  again  in  heaven's  bright  dawn. 

John,  strong  was  the  tie  that  bound  us  before, 

Grief  is  the  rivet  to  tighten  the  link  ; 
Good  bye,  little  one,  our  grieving  is  sore, 

The  spirit  is  willing  yet  the  bruised  heart  will  shrink. 


114  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


Hagar. 

PRELUDE. 

down  the  pathos  of  the  old, 
Into  the  heart  of  the  new  ; 
One  half  the  story  has  not  been  told, 
The  mines  of  the  past  are  rich  with  gold, 
Yet  nothing  but  God  is  true. 

Ever  we  hear  the  dull  refrain 

Of  men  and  women  who  grieve  ; 
The  burden  of  life  is  passion  and  pain, 

Poor  fettered  hearts  have  tugged  at  their  chain 
Since  the  days  of  Adam  and  Eve. 

HAGAR. 

She  stood  in  the  door  of  the  tent 

In  the  cool  of  the  day  ; 
In  the  cool  of  the  early  morning 

Hagar  was  sent  away 
With  her  gift  of  bread  and  water. 

And  she  held  by  the  band 
Her  boy,  while  their  faces  were  turned 
Toward  the  desert  land. 


- 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  115 

Yes,  out  from  the  folds  of  the  tent 

That  long  had  been  her  home, 
She  and  the  child  were  going, 

Never  ae;ain  to  come. 
Abraham  stood  in  the  shadow, 

Watching  as  they  went  out, 
But  Sarah  stood  in  the  sunlight — 

Sarah  had  never  a  doubt. 

Yes,  it  was  time  they  were  going, 

Isaac  was  pressed  to  her  heart, 
And  she  stood  with  eyes  as  Inning. 

Waiting  to  see  them  start. 
Hagar  turned  once,  and  looked  backward, 

Fierce  as  a  tiger  at  bay, 
And  then  she  and  Ishmael  hurried 
Over  the  toilsome  way. 

God  was  watching  the  wanderers 

Till  gone  were  water  and  bread ; 
Hagar  had  cast  the  lad  away, 

And  mourned  for  him  as  dead. 
She  sat  her  down  a  long  way  off, 

Wringing  her  empty  hands  ; 
God  had  forgotten,  and  they  must  die 

Out  on  these  burning  sands. 


'••• 


,$ 

116  SONGS   OF    HOPE. 

God  !    Where  was  God  ?    She  must  find  him, 

And  tell  him  about  the  boy  ; 
Would  He  shatter  her  life  with  one  fierce  stroke, 

Rob  her  of  every  joy  ? 
That  was  her  heaven  out  yonder, 

Going  at  one  bold  throw, 
Madness  assailed  the  tortured  brain, 

She  sank  beneath  the  blow. 

The  voice  of  an  angel  calling, 

Water  and  life  were  sent ; 
One  heart  had  stopped  its  crying 

For  Abraham's  sheltering  tent. 
When  God  makes  a  break  with  our  pain, 

A  blessing  awaits  at  the  sill ; 
To  suffer  is  joy,  to  bear  is  strength, 

If  at  last  comes,   ;t  Peace,  be  still." 

Some  mothers  will  fold  their  babies 

Into  white  beds  each  night, 
While  others  are  crying  with  Hagar, 

Blindly  groping  for  light. 
O,  list  to  the  angels  calling, 

Poor  hearts  both  heavy  and  sair, 
But  after  the  night  comes  morning, 

And  Jesus  your  pain  will  bear. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  117 

The  Oay  and  I. 

K  day  is  growing  old,  the  sky  is  turning  gray, 
It  is  growing  old  and  gray,  like  myself; 
The  sun  will  soon  go  down,  and  night  is  coming  on, 
To  lay  the  day  and  me  upon  the  shelf. 

The  day  will  not  be  dead,  but  her  tender  grace  will 

come, 

To  twine  about  my  dreaming  ever  more ; 
Then  I  will  lie  and  wait  till  the  dreaming  time  is 

done — 
The  day  and  I  will  waken  when  'tis  o'er. 

The  rosy,  dewy  morn  will  all  come  back  to  me, 
The  summer  noon  from  out  a  summer  sky ; 

And  e'en  the  purple  night,  with  misty,  dreamy  light, 
For  beauty  grown  immortal  will  not  die. 

The  lily  of  my  love  will  be  blowing  once  again, 
The  bugle  of  my  joy  will  be  sounding  : 

The  days  are  going  home  in  a  long  and  stately  line, 
The  head  lands  of  glory  they  are  rounding. 


118  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


Belshazzer's  Feast. 

night  had  come  down  like  a  dove  to  its  nest, 
The  stars  of  the  East  were  aflame  on  her  breast  ; 
There  was  music  and  mirth  in  yon  banqueting  hall. 
Where  gathered  the  fairest  and  bravest  of  all. 

A  hundred  lamps  swung  from  the  wall  overhead, 
O'er  a  thousand  fierce  lords  was  their  bright  splendor 

shed ; 

The  golden  cups  blazed,  the  wine  was  aglow, 
And  smiles  lent  their  charm  to  this  barbaric  show. 

The  king  on  his  throne  in  the  pride  of  his  power, 
Had  visions  of  conquests  to  brighten  the  hour; 
Too  soon  the  joy  changed  to  a  shuddering  dread, 
And  pale  grew  the  cheeks  that  the  wine  had  flushed  red. 

A  strange  hand  gleamed  from  the  tapestried  wall, 

And  silence  shut  down  like  a  funeral  pall ; 

Those  fingers  quick  wrote  out  in  letters  of  fire, 

For  the  Lord  had  come  down  "in  the  pomp  of  his  ire.  " 

The  vessels  of  Judah  dropped  out  from  the  hand, 
And  panic  now  ruled  the  once  valiant  band  ; 
While  the  monarch  cried  out  with  a  trembling  awe, 
For  the  wise  men  to  read  him  the  words  which  he  saw. 

_ — © 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  119 

Alas  !  all  their  wisdom  was  empty  and  vain, 

Though  they  would  they  could  not  the  meaning  explain; 

When  a  low  voice  like  music  crept  into  the  air, 

"  My  Lord,  I  entreat  thee,  yield  not  to  despair. 

"  I  know  a  poor  captive  from  Israel's  land, 
Will  tell  thee  what  meaneth  the  mystical  hand." 
"  Then,  ho  !  have  him  in,  and  I  will  bestow 
One  third  of  my  crown  if  the  meaning  he  show.'1 

Then  Daniel  stood  up  in  the  sight  of  them  all. 
And  told  them  the  sense  of  the  words  on  the  wall  : 
"The  kingdom  is  rent  from  thy  hand,  and  thy  sword 
To  the  Medes  and  the  Persians  I  give,"  saith  the  Lord. 

*'  Thou  art  weighed  in  the  balance,  found  wanting, 

and  now 

I  will  take  the  diadem  off  from  thy  brow." 
A  hush  tilled  the  room — the  tale  it  was  told — 
Ere  morning  Belshazzar  was  silent  and  cold. 

Two  guests  uninvited — stern  Death  and  the  Lord — 
Had  come  to  the  feast  and  spoken  their  word ; 
For  singing  and  laughter  carne  weeping  and  moan, 
For  the  purple  and  crown  were  the  shroud  and  the 
stone. 


O— : '• Q 

120  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

A.  Temperance  3>ream. 

MSAT  lazily  rocking  one  day, 
' 
t          As  often  a  woman  will, 

When  I  fell  asleep  and  seemed  to  be 

Up-climbing  a  fearful  hill. 
There  I  was  met  by  a  grizzly  shape 

No  mortal  could  ever  describe; 
'Twas  clothed  in  tatters  from  head  to  foot — 

A  beggar  the  garb  would  deride. 

I  gasped,  "  Will  you  please  to  tell  your  name, 

And  if  ever  we've  met  before  ?  " 
t;  I  am  Statistics,"  and  then  the  thing 

Uttered  a  hideous  roar. 
u  Ay,  you  are  quite  harmless,  I  see, 

But  you  help  to  fill  up  a  bill ; 
You  have  been  fired  again  and  again— 

You  may  cripple,  but  never  can  kill." 

"  I  can  tell  the  drink  bill  of  the  world, 

How  many  are  keeping  saloons. 
How  many  are  dying  from  year  to  year 

From  breathing  hell's  terrible  fumes; 

, — Q 


SONGS    OF    HOPE,  121 

Of  the  widows  that  wring  their  hands, 

The  orphans  that  cry  for  bread, 
In  short,  give  figures  for  everything, 

All  the  way  from  the  living  to  dead." 

So  I  grew  quite  free  with  this  shape, 

And  asked  if  to  me  it  could  tell 
Plow  many  souls  went  down  in  the  storm 

That  was  raised  by  the  owner  of  hell ; 
How  many  the  tears  that  are  shed, 

How  many  hearts  broken  by  drink  ? 
The  puzzled  wight  then  scratched  his  head, 

And  answered,  "  I  really  can't  think. 

u  Another  man  keeps  those  accounts, 

And  he  will  be  sure  to  know." 
So  I  turned  from  the  bloated  thing — 

My  steps  were  heavy  and  slow ; 
I  stopped  at  the  first  black  door— 

A  gentle  push  opened  it  wide ; 
I  walked  adown  the  bright  saloon, 

Till  I  stopped  by  the  merchant's  side. 

"  Sir,  for  those  engaged  in  your  trade, 

One  is  keeping  a  book,  I'm  told  ; 
In  these  accounts,  from  day  to  day, 

Is  marked  every  shipwrecked  soul ! 


122  SONGS    OF    HOPB 

The  tears  that  ruin  has  caused  to  flow, 
The  hearts  he  has  broken,  for  aye ; 

Do  you  know  the  power  that  keeps  the  books, 
Noting  items  of  Alcohol's  sway? 

"In  these  accounts  perhaps  you  can  tell 

The  figures  set  down  for  you ; 
I  am  told  the  one  that  foots  them  up 

Is  called  ever  faithful  and  true." 
"Madam,  I  neither  know,  nor  care — 

You  had  better  be  going  your  way ; 
The  temperance  folks  are  raising  a  muss, 

And  we  find  there's  the  devil  to  pay." 

"Yes,  sir,  you  are  right,  and  perhaps  the  bill 

Will  make  you  open  your  eyes  ; 
I  have  no  desire,  my  honored  sir, 

To  share  in  the  little  surprise." 
I  turned  from  him  and  woke  from  my  dream, 

But  the  battle  I'll  never  give  o'er ; 
Whisky  I'll  fight  as  long  as  I  live, 

Then  sail  to  heaven's  fair  shore. 

We  will  load  our  cannon  quite  up, 
With  the  weight  of  the  moral  law, 

And  when  it  is  fired  at  the  enemy's  ranks, 
Down  will  go  their  men  of  straw. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  123 

Then  up  to  the  ramparts,  my  men, 

And  the  flag  of  victory  wave ; 
The  Lord  is  leaning  over  the  heights-1— 

The  Lord,  who  the  drunkard  can  save. 

The  car  is  coining,  oh  don't  you  hear 

The  music  that  heralds  its  way  I 
Ah,  when  it  is  here  we  women  will  go 

Low  down  on  our  knees  to  pray. 
And  when  at  last  we  have  stormed  the  fort, 

We  will  cheer  till  the  heavens  ring  ; 
Never  give  up,  though  you  die  in  the  trench, 

For  the  future  will  victory  bring. 


The  Two  Brooks. 

I  tell  you  a  story,  David, 
The  fairy  queen  whispered  to  me, 
Of  .two  little  brooks  that  started 
To  run  away  down  to  the  sea  ? 

One  glided  through  grass  and  flowers, 
Sparkled  arid  dimpled  along, 

The  blue  sky  arched  above  it, 

And  cheered  by  the  wild  bird's  song. 


c- 


124  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

One  brook  came  down  from  the  mountain.. 
Through  the  granite  carving  its  way  ; 

The  feet  of  green  mosses  crept  softly 
To  the  water's  brink  in  their  play. 

The  brooks  grew  to  full  banked  rivers, 

So  deep,  so  rapid  and  free  ; 
But  whether  in  sun  or  in  shadow, 

They  crept  straight  along  to  the  sea. 

Their  waters  in  one  were  blended, 
As  the  night  melts  into  the  day  ; 

Sun  and  stars  smiled  down  on  the  union,, 
Yet  seaward  they  still  kept  their  way, 

Till  they  poured  their  united  waters 

Into  the  breast  of  the  sea. 
The  rose  spills  her  cup  of  fragrance, 

Yet  is  happy  as  rose  can  be. 

Thus  with  our  lives,  my  David, 
They  are  gliding  along  the  way, 

Either  in  glow  or  in  gloaming. 
Just  twelve  years  ago  to-day, 

Since  we  braided  them  up  together, 
To  run  their  swift  way  to  the  sea, 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


125 


Whose  waters  are  pure  as  crystal  — 
They  are  waiting  for  me  and  thee. 

An  ocean  of  love  unfathomed, 

Where  we  lose  our  sorrow  and  care  ; 

The  night  never  bends  above  it, 
And  the  day  is  eternally  fair. 


The  Bridge  o'er  which  the  Babies  <3o. 

,  dark  hills  on  either  side — 
Between  them  rushed  a  river  ; 
Black  and  angry  was  the  tide. 

Whose  waves  flow  on  forever. 
Lined  with  wrecks  are  both  the  banks, 

The  wind  is  filled  with  sighing, 
And  still  they  come  in  broken  ranks, 
This  army  of  the  dying. 


Feebly  marching  to  the  grave, 
I  see  them  shrink  and  shiver  ; 

But  thou  dost  stretch  an  icy  wave 
To  grasp  them,  cruel  river. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

No  glint  of  sun  to  light  the  stream, 
No  foam,  white  crested,  flowing, 

But  like  some  endless  nightmare  dream,. 
'T  was  always  going,  going. 

Pour  in  the  ruby  wine  of  life, 

It  mocks  at  moans  and  weeping — 
The  waves  keep  up  their  endless  strife,. 

Our  treasures  onward  sweeping. 
But  how  do  all  tlie  babies  go 

Across  this  stormy  ocean  ? 
They  cannot  stem  the  waves'  swift  flow 

And  waters'  wild  commotion. 

High  above  the  whirling  stream 
Stretches  out  a  shining  beam, 

Like  a  holy  vision  ; 
O'er  this  highway  of  the  air, 
Passes  every  baby  fair, 

Into  realms  elysian. 

Passing  swiftly,  passing  slow, 
Babes  and  angels  come  and  go, 

In  and  out  of  glory  ; 
Robes  of  whiteness  pass  along — 
Don't  you  hear  a  ringing  song 

That  tells  a  happy  story  ? 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  127 

"We  have  passed  from  pain  and  strife, 
Stretched  the  elastic  cord  of  life, 

But  it  is  not  broken  ; 
Deathless  love  shall  ever  reign5 
You  shall  welcome  us  again, 

Christ  our  blessed  token. 

u  He  built  this  bridge  that  we  might  run 
Out  of  shadow  into  the  sun, 
•    Above  the  ice  cold  river  ; 
If  we  grow  tired  upon  the  way, 
His  loving  breast  our  heads  will  stay — 
Now  are  we  happy  ever." 

This  is  the  way  the  babies  go, 
Sweet  as  incense,  white  as  snow, 

And  yet  our  hearts  are  breaking ; 
But  over  on  the  other  side, 
Beyond  the  black  and  stormy  tide, 

Our  souls  will  soon  be  waking. 


128  SONUS    OF    HOPE. 


Nest  Building. 

«HE  birds  are  busy  building  nests, 
«      And  mine  is  all  torn  down  ; 
The  winds  may  blow  and  skies  drop  rain — 
I  ne'er  can  build  my  nest  again, 

For  I'm  a  bird  with  a  broken  wing, 

And  hardly  have  courage  my  song  to  sing. 

How  I  pity  the  bird  that  cannot  fly- 
That  cannot  build  a  nest ; 
When  its  fellows  twitter  and  coo  in  spring, 
It  must  drag  along  with  a  broken  wing; 
No  airy  flight  up  into  the  tree, 
No  building  time  for  the  bird  or  me. 

The  bird  can  sing,  and  so  can  I — 
Break  into  praise,  O  soul ! 

The  saddest  word  in  any  tongue, 

That  was  ever  spoken,  writ  or  sung 

Is,  "It  might  have  been  ;"  the  sweetest  to  me 
Are  these  brief  words  :   "  'T  is  sure  to  be." 


SONGS  OF  Horr:.  129 

I  know  the  Lord  will  build  for  me, 

And  heal  my  wounded  wing  ; 
Yet  I  want  again  my  ruined  nest, 
And  the  boys  that  lay  upon  my  breast  ; 
So  my  heart  laments  as  I  watch  the  birds, 
With  a  pain  that  cannot  be  put  in  words. 


Baby's  I?oem. 

Y  baby  he  wrote  a  poem, 

That  only  the  angels  can  read  ; 
I  look  on  the  characters  half  divine— 
My  heart  is  thrilled,  for  the  boy  was  mine  ; 
I  have  sent  him  to  school  in  a  sunny  clime, 
To  learn  the  angels'  creed. 

'This  holy  creed  is  only  love, 

But  the  hardest  of  all  to  learn ; 
Methinks  I  will  sit  at  my  darling's  feet, 
And  learn  the  lesson  with  patience  sweet, 
While  our  hearts  together  as  one  will  beat, 
And  love  divine  will  burn. 


130  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

I  said  he  was  mine  ;  dost  think  I  mean 

The  Father  has  ta'en  him  away  ? 
He  is  mine  by  every  throb  of  pain, 
He  is  part  of  myself  in  body  and  brain, 
And  the  head  that  over  my  heart  hath  lain) 

God  will  give  back  some  day. 

Do  you  marvel  at  my  simple  faith  ? 

Then  wonder  no  longer  my  friend  ; 
Methinks  I  have  stood  on  Pizgah's  mountr 
My  lips  have  quaffed  from  a  holy  fount — 
The  living  and  dying  I  do  not  count — 

For  bliss  that  crowns  the  end. 

The  mystery  of  my  baby's  song 

I  may  yet  read  over  at  will ; 
But  now  it  is  like  the  wing  of  a  dream, 
That  daintily  brushed  and  dipped  in  life's  streamr 
While  flashing  along,  it  gave  me  a  gleam 

Of  rapture,  my  heart  to  thrill. 


-G 


SONGS    OF   HOPE.  131 

The  Twins. 

|||f  T  is  a  sweet  puzzle,  I  pray  you  to  tell, 

vjll     Which  one  is  Laura  and  which  one  is  Floy  ; 

I  halfway  think  they  are  cheating  us  all, 

And  there's  only  one  girl  to  delude  some  boy. 

A  couplet  in  verse  are  these  charming  girls, 

A  duet  in  music,  you  plainly  can  see ; 
One  of  them  thinks  she  can  make  her  own  fate, 

The  other,  what's  fated  is  certain  to  be. 

Alas  !    how  I  pity  the  trusting  lad, 

Who  is  happy  enough  one  heart  to  win, 

He  never  could  tell  if  this  were  his  wife, 
Or  only  her  sister,  the  other  sweet  twin. 

May  Cupid  assail  the  fort  of  each  heart, 

May  these  twins  be  divided  in  twain ; 
King  Love  slay  each  girl  with  thy  keen  little  dart, 

Yet  kill  them  without  any  needless  pain. 

Twin  peaches  are  rosy  yet  have  but  one  stone, 
While  each  of  these  maids  owns  a  heart ;] 

Were  I  wiser  I'd  tell  you  just  how  it  is  done, 
Dividing  these  Siamese  maidens  apart. 


132  SONGS   OF    HOPE. 


Thoughts  for  Scientists. 

cattle  on  the  hills  are  his, 
The  strong  hills  too, 
They  lift  their  green  heads  up  to  him : 

Why  should  not  you  ? 
Why  boldly  fling  your  impious  thought 

Into  the  air, 

And  dare  te  say  with  bated  breath, 
"God  is  not  there!" 

You  glibly  settle  things  and  say  : 

From  atoms  grew, 
The  great  round  world  that  swings  in  space, 

With  all  her  crew. 
Who  hurled  the  primal  molecule  out, 

And  gave  the  swing 
That  made  the  atom  grow  and  flower 

In  everything. 

Pregnant  with  grandest  meaning  'twas, 

When  brought  to  birth  ; 
It  gave  force,  matter,  and  even  law, 

To  rule  this  earth. 


•c 


SONGS   OF   HOPE.  133 

It  gave  to  man  the  awful  thought 

That  conceived  God, 
O,  lying  atom  !   you  deserve 

To  feel  the  rod. 

But  who  shall  scourge  ?    The  thing  evolved 

Looks  up  and  dares, 
Believe  and  trust  a  higher  power, 

That  answers  prayers. 
If  you  could  only  grow  and  give 

Unto  our  eyes, 
The  Maker  that  our  hearts  demand, 

And  break  the  skies 

To  let  a  Christ  come  through,  O,  then 

We  should  he  blest ! 
The  tide  of  life  heaves  on  and  on, 

In  search  of  rest. 
But  there  is  rest,  for  I  have  found 

My  God  at  last. 
Bold  science  I  defy,  and  nail 

Truth  to  the  mast. 

The  bed  that  science  makes  is  short, 

It  cramps  me  so  ; 
The  covers  are  too  small  for  me, 

And  I  will  go 


134  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 

In  search  of  better  things.     Will  you 

Journey  with  me  ? 
At  last  we'll  break  through  Time,  and  find 

Eternity. 


lyeaves  from  <3ethsemane 

BUNCH  of  dry  and  crumbling  leaves, 
But  round  about  them  history  weaves 
A  wild,  pathetic  story ; 
Once  they  were  plucked  from  olive  trees. 
Kissed  by  an  oriental  breeze, 
And  kissed,  as  well,  by  glory. 

O,  that  my  lips  were  touched  by  fire, 
That  I  could  strike  some  sounding  lyre, 

And  till  the  earth  with  singing. 
My  eyes  o'erflow  with  tears  of  praise, 
And  I  a  song  of  love  will  raise, 

Till  earth  and  heaven  are  ringing. 

Once  underneath  the  olive's  shade, 
My  Savior  knelt,  my  Savior  prayed, 

Heart  broken  with  his  sorrow ; 
No  wonder  should  the  spirit  quail, 
The  cross,  the  thorns,  the  iron  nail, 

Waited  for  Him  to-morrow. 


-    : 


SONGS   OF    HOPE.  135 

And  so  He  lay  upon  the  sod, 

And  raised  His  broken  voice  to  God, 

"  O,  let  the  cup  pass  over." 
The  drops  of  blood  upon  his  brow, 
In  fancy  I  can  see  them  now ; 

They  seem  to  stain  the  clover. 

A  fancy ;  let  me  hold  it,  friend, 
And  even  here  it  will  not  end ; 

If  the  red  clover's  keeping 
A  stain  of  blood,  why  then  the  white 
Was  bleached  upon  that  dreadful  night, 

By  His  impassioned  weeping. 

O,  Garden  of  Gethsernane, 

Where  watched  the  sorrow  burdened  three, 

And  where  these  leaves  were  growing, 
I  sit  and  wonder  at  the  love 
That  brought  Christ  Jesus  from  above — 

Such  gifts  on  man  bestowing. 

For  every  one  that  will  believe, 
Shall  everlasting  life  receive — 

The  heavens  and  earth  are  ringing, 
And  everywhere  the  sweet  winds  blow, 
This  gift  of  God  is  sure  to  go — 

I  cannot  keep  from  singing. 


136  SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


God's  Mercy. 

||  STOOD  by  the  harbor  of  heaven, 
¥       The  sea  lay  shining  and  wide, 
And  over  the  harbor  bar  rolled 

The  waves  in  an  endless  tide. 
I  wanted  to  touch  the  other  shore, 

So  my  ships  went  sailing  away ; 
To  the  north,  the  south,  the  east  and  west, 

They  sailed  for  many  a  day. 

As  I  sat  beside  the  harbor  bar, 

The  waves  came  rolling  along; 
And  as  they  broke  I  seemed  to  catch 

The  echoing  notes  of  song. 
At  last  my  ships  came  sailing  back, 

I  saw  them  from  afar, 
And  shouted  :     "  Have  you  found  the  shore?'7 

Ere  they  reached  the  harbor  bar. 

"No  shore,  no  shore,"  was  the  answering  cry; 

"  This  ocean,  it  has  no  rim ; 
We  found  no  place  to  anchor  our  boats, 

So  we  came  to  anchor  with  Him 


® — ^ 

SONGS    OF    HOPE.  137 

Who  holdeth  creation  in  His  hand ;" 

Yet  still  I  sent  my  cry, 
"Found  you  any  sunken  rocks,  brave  lads, 

Where  stranded  wrecks  might  lie  ?" 

"We  never  found  a  sunken  rock, 

Though  we  sounded  o'er  and  o'er; 
We  sailed  north,  south,  to  east  and  west, 

Yet  never  came  to  shore." 
I  praise  thee,  God,  for  this  shoreless  sea, 

Whose  depths  no  plummet  can  sound; 
It  runs  away  in  gleaming  waves, 

And  touches  eternity's  bound. 


\  : 


g 


Maids  and  Apple  Blossoms. 

AIDEN  with  the  sunny  eyes, 

Apple  blooms  to  crown  thy  hair — 
Standing  now  in  mute  surprise, 

Baptised  in  the  spring  time  air ; 
Hast  thou,  maid,  a  snow  white  heart  ? 
Rosy  red  when  Cupid's  dart, 
Pierces  it  with  guileless  art  ? 
Tell  me  maiden  if  you  dare, 
With  apple  blossoms  in  your  hair. 

See  her  shake  that  nut  brown  head — 
Flash  upon  me  those  blue  eyes — 

Some  sweet  magic  from  her  sped  ; 
Yes,  the  maid  seems  very  wise. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  139 


.'Singing  like  some  mocking  bird, 

Yet  one  cannot  catch  a  word, 

Still  the  girl  is  not  absurd. 
What  knows  she  of  pain  or  care, 
With  apple  blossoms  in  her  hair  ? 

Birds  are  mating  in  the  tree  ; 

Hast  found  thy  mate  my  little  girl  ? 
Surely  now  thou  'It  answer  me  ; 

But  I  see  the  red  lips  curl. 
Had  I  now  thy  pure  heart's  key, 
I  would  set  the  rebel  free, 
Then  chain  it  fast  again  to  me. 

Thou  art  saucy,  thou  art  fair, 

With  apple  blossoms  in  thy  hair. 

I  'd  rather  lock  myself  within, 

And  fling  the  key  away ; 
Thus  the  fortress  I  would  win, 

And  then  no  more  would  stray. 
Ah,  have  I  woke  the  ruby's  glow, 
Upon  thy  forehead 's  alpine  snow  I 
Then,  dainty  rebel,  you  may  go  ; 

Of  joy  and  sport  have  thy  full  share, 

While  apple  blossoms  crown  thy  hair 


140  MISCELLANEOUS. 


A  Soul  at  Auction. 

bids,  who  bids,  for  thisli  ttle  white  soul,, 
The  soul  of  my  darling  child  ? 
The  World,  the  Flesh  and  the  Devil  uprise, 
Their  eyes  are  eager  and  wild. 

"  I  bid,"  said  the  World,  "  riches  and  show, 

For  these  man  toils  like  a  slave  ; 
In  the  end  a  white  marble  shaft  shall  uprise, 
And  gleam  in  the  sun  o'er  a  grave." 

"I,"  said  the  Flesh,"  bid  every  delight 

That  gratified  Passion  can  give  ; 
The  present  is  thine  ;  take  thine  ease,  O,  sou.,. 

I  bid  thee  right  merrily  live." 

The  Devil  cried  out  :    "I  bid  these  —  yea  more,. 

Ambition  and  marvelous  power  ; 
We  three  are  one  firm,  and  I  am  the  head  ; 

Soul,  thou  art  mine  from  this  hour." 

A  low  voice  rose  on  the  poisoned  air, 

From  one  with  a  thorn  scarred  brow, 
"  I  gave  my  life  for  this  little  soul, 

The  soul  that  I  bid  for  now. 

-  0 


MISCELLANEOUS.  141 

"  I  give  pardon  for  sin  and  peace  within — 

A  gem  wreathed  cross  and  crown ; 
Xove  for  hate,  and  strength  to  the  end, 

My  smile  for  the  cold  world's  frown. 

-"  A  glorified  form  and  unknown  joys, 

Eternal  life  and  the  victor's  song; 
Heaven  shall  ring  with  anthems  of  praise, 

Sung  by  the  blood  washed  throng  " 

'The  Lord  Jesus  Christ  shall  have  my  dove, 

Here,  take  and  make  it  thine  own  ; 
.^Bought  with  a  price  God  only  can  pay, 

Made  heir  to  a  crown  and  a  throne. 


A  Woman's  Protest. 

"We  are  all  more  or  less  religious.'' — Globe. 

fljt  LL  more  or  less  religious, 
<rf^     Why,  even  the  devils  are  so, 
For  they  fear  God  and  tremble — 

The  men  deal  blow  upon  blow 
•On  the  holy  truths  of  the  bible. 

I  tell  you,  even  to-day, 
'The  Book  and  God  you  would  suppress, 

If  some  mortals  had  their  way. 


142  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Annihilate  God  !     What  then  ? 

"What  if  you  quench  the  sun 
Till  only  a  blackened  coal  is  left, 

And  the  day  is  just  begun  ? 

0  puny  mites  that  crawl  the  earth, 
As  ants  creep  over  the  hill, 

Who  breathe  one  moment,  die  the  next,, 
Yet  prate  of  their  mighty  will ! 

Evolved  !     From  what,  I  pray  you  tell  ? 

And  how  did  the  first  atom  grow  ? 
Wisdom,  speak  up  to  a  waiting  world — 

The  race  is  eager  to  know. 
So  much  of  muscle  and  brain, 

So  much  of  a  finer  power 
Goes  into  man,  and  yet  some  say 

He'  s  an  insect  of  the  hour. 

1  am  only  a  little  woman, 

Yet  have  just  a  word  to  say  ; 
A  word  for  mothers  of  boys  and  girla,, 

For  mothers  who  love  to  pray. 
I  have  sent  two  cherished  children 

Into  the  school  on  high  ; 
There  the  Bible  is  never  turned  out — 

'T  is  the  text  book  of  the  sky. 


— O 

MISCELLANEOUS.  143 

"  A  little  Bible  is  very  good — 

Too  much,  dyspepsia  will  give." 
Is  this  your  plea,  O  worthy  Globe  ? 

Your  logic  is  like  a  sieve. 
Show  me  the  man  who  ever  died 

Of  too  much  Bible  diet ; 
Latimer,  Kidley,  do  you  say  ? 

Why,  that  won't  keep  me  quiet. 

'T  was  only  the  Bible  haters 

That  put  these  men  to  the  flame ; 
Out  of  this  chrism,  their  souls  broke  prison, 

And  theirs  is  the  martyr's  flame. 
Have  I  said  my  say  ?     No,  brother,  no — 

The  poet  is  never  done  ; 
The  woman's  heart  broke  at  the  wheel, 

And  my  song  for  once  is  sung. 


Out. 

>OOKINGr  out  from  the  windows  of  heaven, 

Two  little  faces  I  see, 
Patiently  watching  for  mamma  to  come  ; 
"My  darlings,  I'm  hasting  to  thee." 

; © 


© : 

144  MISCELLANEOUS. 

It  is  only  waiting  a  bit,  my  dears, 
Till  the  Lord  makes  ready  my  place  ; 

Then,  like  an  arrow  shot  out  from  the  bow, 
I'll  gladden  each  baby  face. 

Little  arms  will  be  clasping  my  neck, 

Kisses  and  kisses  I'll  rain  ; 
The  Lord  will  stand  by,  and  smile  to  see 

That  I  am  happy  again. 

So  my  sweetlings  must  worship  and  wait, 
While  mamma  will  serve  below  ; 

When  at  last  we  meet,  our  souls  will  be 
Whiter  than  whitest  of  snow. 

You  must  beckon  for  papa  to  come, 
Keep  waving  and  waving  each  hand, 

So  when  we  come  home  we  may  not  miss 
One  out  of  the  household  band. 

When  four  little  white  hands  are  waving 
Their  message,  "  Come  up  to  the  sky," 

And  Jesus  so  sweetly  is  calling, 
I  am  sure  dear  papa  will  try. 


:• 


Q ; ; -f 

MISCELLANEOUS.  145 

To  One  Who  Asked  for  a  Song. 

jfj±  HOW  can  I  sing  you  a  song. 

^/      When  the  song  has  gone  out  of  my  heart? 

How  can  I  make  sunshine  for  other  homes, 

When  I  never  have  learned  the  art  ? 
The  song  of  the  bird  is  born, 

In  its  tuneful  throat  it  lies, 
Till  nature  touches  the  wonderful  thing, 

And  it  soars  with  a  glad  surprise  ; 
Ripple  and  quaver  and  trill — 

'Tis  a  tune  all  unset  to  words  ; 
Your  heart  is  stirred  with  a  gladsome  thrill, 

And  this  is  the  way  with  the  birds. 
And  this  is  the  way  with  my  soul — 

It  will  fly  to  the  living  spring, 
To  drink  the  waters,  so  cool,  so  sweet, 

Then  the  song  in  my  heart  will  ring. 
When  an  arrow  flies  from  the  bow, 

It  is  sure  to  hit  some  mark  ; 
Out  into  the  sunshine  fly,  little  song, 

Though  the  singer  sits  in  the  dark ; 
Sparkle  and  gladden  and  glow — 

Your  wonderful  message  is  love — 
Away  on  your  mission  I  bid  you  go, 

We  will  meet  in  the  land  above 


146  MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  marvelous  tale  is  told — 

How  the  wounded  swan,  ere  she  dies,. 
Breathes  the  only  melody  of  her  life  ; 

So  the  broken  in  spirit  thus  cries, 
Sending  forth  a  subtle  perfume, 

Much  finer  than  mignonette  ; 
Crushed  things  are  oft  times  sweeter  far,. 

We  shrink  from  the  process,  and  yet 
Pain's  pleasure,  sorrow  and  care, 

Are  burning  the  dross  away  ; 
The  pitiful  Father  will  help  us  bear, 

And  teach  us  to  sing  hope's  lay. 

We  will  turn  the  cloud,  and  ever  turn, 

For  the  lining  of  silver  and  gold  ; 
Rare,  sweet  odors  are  stealing  forth, 

As  we  fling  to  the  breeze  each  fold. 
There  are  pity  and  infinite  love, 

A  trust  that  is  anchored  in  heaven, 
Wings  for  a  song,  and  oil  for  our  wound, 

If  we  search  are  sure  to  be  given. 
Then  upward,  yet  upward,  we  soar, 

And  still  as  we  fly  will  sing, 
c  Our  nest  is  built  in  the  clefted  rock — 

When  the  storms  roar  loudest  we'll  cling. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  147 


After  Ohristmas. 

OLDEN  Christmas  bells  have  stopped  their  merry 

ringing, 

But  up  in  heaven  still,  the  angels  keep  on  singing  ; 
What  a  gladsome,  merry  chime  was  the  bells'  sweet 

midnight  song, 

With  the  voices  of  the  angels  ringing  out,  both  full 
and  strong. 

O  how  that  music  swells,  like  a  chime  of  silver  bells, 

It  beats  along  the  air  and  the  blessed  story  tells, 

Of  the  babe  that  found  a  rest  on  sweet  Mary's  snowy 

breast, 
And  found  the  way  to  heaven  from  Calvary's  rocky 

crest. 

Come  help  the  seraphs  sing,  till  heaven's  arches  ring, 
And  peace  her  glorious  banner  over  all  the  earth  shall 

fling  ; 

The  earth  is  full  of  sorrow,  so  full  of  want  and  woe, 
But  all  the  climbers  upward  from  Calvary  must  go. 

And  once  a  year,  dear  friends,  we  may  hope  to  catch 
the  song, 

The  spicy  gales  of  heaven  are  sure  to  bear  along  ; 


148  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Each  one  of  us  have  crosses,  and  we  faint  upon  the 

way, 
But  the  Father  he  remembers  that  we  are  only  clay. 

0  I  love  to  think  and  ponder  on  the  Motherhood  of 
God, 

That  He  loves  to  give  us  kisses,  and  hates  to  use  the 

rod; 

Rather  His  chastisements  than  any  earthly  crown — 
I'm  certain  were  one  given,  I'd  quickly  throw  it  down, 

And  hunt  my  thorn  wreathed  cross,  having  learned  to 

bear  its  sting, 
And  carrying  the  burden,  would  have  a  song  to  sing. 

1  am  so  near  my  journey's  end,  the  glory  shimmers 
through; 

The  clouds  are  breaking  in  the  sky,  I  catch  a  glimpse 

of  blue. 
So  standing  on  the  border  land,  I  raise  the  yictor's 

shout, 
The  Christmas  bells  have  rung  in  peace,  and  weary 

souls  rung  out. 


-; ! 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


Sermon. 

Y  brothers,  I'll  preach  you  a  little 
Wee  bit  of  a  sermon,  this  morn, 
Into  which  I  will  put  the  flowers, 

And  leave  out  every  thorn. 
"Love"  is  my  wonderful  topic, 

The  shortest  divine  ever  took — 
You  will  lind  it  occurring  quite  often,, 
If  you  glance  within  an  old  book. 

Love  is  the  sunlight  of  heaven, 

God's  mighty  evangel  to  men  ; 
It  outranks  the  poet  and  prophet, 

And  conquers  the  sword  and  the  pen. 
Love  melts  all  the  frosts  of  the  winter, 

And  tempers  the  summer  time  heat ; 
Love  ever  is  bearing  our  burdens, 

And  bringing  us  low  at  the  feet 

Of  the  Lover  that  came  down  from  heaven 

To  win  and  to  woo  mankind  ; 
Love  comforts  the  worn  and  the  weary, 

And  opens  the  eyes  of  the  blind. 


150  MISCELLANEOUS. 

What  care  I  for  fine  spun  doctrines, 

With  all  of  the  love  left  out, 
While  people  are  starving  for  gospel, 

And  some  are  beginning  to  doubt. 

I  would  gladly  hold  up  my  Master, 

With  His  nail  marked  hands  and  His  feet ; 
Methinks  your  hearts  would  be  melted, 

At  witnessing  love  so  complete. 
Put  Christ  into  all  your  smiling, 

And  into  your  living  as  well ; 
Then  the  world  will  be  conquered  for  Jesus, 

And  my  sermon  on  love  will  tell. 


Woman. 

may  dream  and  women  may  work, 
Wild  bees  by  the  wayside  keep  humming  ; 
The  roses  may  bud  and  roses  may  blow, 
For  the  good  time  surely  is  coming. 

I  stand  in  the  rift  of  the  present,  and  feel 
Sweet  winds,  that  are  cooling  my  fever ; 

With  a  smile  on  my  lips  I  am  ready  to  kneel, 
Ere  I  enter  the  golden  forever. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  151 

Our  pain  and  desire  are  the  blossoms  I  see, 
Not  the  wonderful  fruits  they  are  bearing  ; 

You  are  toilers  to-day — then  dig  'round  the  tree — 
The  reaping  depends  on  your  daring. 

So  whether  the  pitiful  rains  shall  fall, 

Or  the  sunbeams  still  keep  shining, 
Let  us  never  be  driven  back  to  the  wall, 

Or  yield  to  the  demon  of  whining. 


The  Call. 

WAS  eighteen  hundred  years  ago, 

The  wondrous  call  was  given, 
To  bearded  men  in  fisher's  coats, 
The  call  from  earth  to  heaven. 
"They  left  their  boats  on  Galilee, 

The  blue  wave's  rythinic  flowing, 
And  straight  began  to  sow  the  seed, 
To-day  we  see  it  growing. 

'The  roots  are  spreading  far  and  wide, 
Sweet  winds  catch  up  the  story, 

And  everywhere  it  goes  'twill  give 
An  added  touch  of  glory. 


S 


152  MISCELLANEOUS. 

'Twas  "  Peace  on  earth,  Good  will  toymen, 
The  angel  bands  were  singing; 

Mankind  has  caught  the  heavenly  strain, 
O,  do  n't  you  hear  it  ringing. 

The  bells  are  swaying  to  and  fro, 

Come,  heed  the  silver  pealing, 
And  worship  in  God's  courts  to-day, 

For  he  will  give  you  healing. 
Ah  !  we  are  sick  of  sin  and  strife, 

While  many  are  so  weary, 
The  hope  of  gaining  freer  life, 

Will  make  this  life  less  dreary. 

Each  little  seed  that  falls  to  earth 

Is  sure  of  future  growing, 
And  every  seed  will  bear  its  fruit, 

If  God  controls  the  sowing. 
One  trouble  is,  we  judge  the  Christ, 

By  those  who  often  stumble ; 
I  fancy  should  we  look  aloft, 

'T would  make  us  all  more  humble. 

Some  sit  by  rush-lights,  some  by  stars, 
Some  sit  beside  the  fountain, 

Whence  everlasting  light  flows  down, 
From  Zion's  holy  mountain. 


0 


What  does  tfcforifcoyjfj  9&>#ffiM&fo&ffl  ii9ilW 
A  call  to  hi^hlmwg  hoeoh  oilt  ilormi  08 

A  caHl^w$#MlbQ$Wsiim&fii  nnole  fi  nsrfW 
Forg^«^|g4|g|5^^fo  [)00.icf  9Ift  895iH 

,Jft9'I  Uli  OJ  ([997/8   fllW  ;tf39C[ril9J  gMT 

^       .v_ig  oilj  ai.9niifeWiwjwocffli8T.9dT 

The  Bow  in  .the  <3>kraa. 

DOT)    to      nfllflia  9fli  DflB  81B9J  '1UO    IO  tl/O 


LOW 

The  fri 

The  wind  gives  fo.ftte  te^W^^6^J^}4A  birA 
While 


mi  ^   ,-,        .  .HlJO  'UJO^Ot   "t/JOl'L  ?j  307911  9"H 

The  arms  of  the  trees  are  tossing  nigh. 

mi     v   i4  J'>fto-iJ  >di.>i  9noj^  u  a;ff[hff  blhfo  9iQ  II 

The  lightning  shaft  is  cutting  the  sky, 

-P.  >  738.8*1  iol  J/iili  ovr-  /I'jif  joifL  9/J.t  ,[fi7/' 

Down  pours  the  rain  on  mountain  and  plain  ; 

*  -mo  uo't  baoid  opj  98<>a'frj<T  J>nu  mjlq  911108 
e  sun  is  sure  to  shine  aaiir. 

.9JD  J8Jjiii 


Then  you  will  see  God's  promise  to  man  — 

The  rainbow  arcTiil  &W$lft^fl1  ^on 

It  hangs  in  the  d%j^'%dl^WHB?***  0/{T 

You  fanc^^to^ffilf  be  ^Mm^tHfer4.nw°a 

;  <  ••«  I  rre-ibliifo  '^in  illiw  -grrolA 
Our  nation  is  un4W^9[¥4ii  v/ocf  7111  ol  ({n  jfooJ 

Thick  darknes^/isr;g^B^^I^4f;([I.  89fj0.rfi  jj 

I  see  notjte^wajtfj  ^t  gvppjy  filujgivib  ?.-io[oo  e,tl 

In  trust  to  a^^^r^jatjiffrjsj^^.^^j^  j>nA 

^  -  ,  -  © 


G 

154  MISCELLANEOUS. 

When  a  child  is  afraid  of  the  dark, 

So  much  the  closer  't  will  cling  ; 
When  a  storm  is  abroad,  the  mother  bird 

Hides  the  brood  close  under  her  wing. 
This  tempest  will  sweep  to  its  rest, 

The  rainbow  will  shine  in  the  sky, 
Out  of  our  tears  and  the  smiling  of  God 

Will  be  painted  each  glorious  dye. 
How  oft  clouds  of  grief  will  arise. 

And  the  pitiless  rain  will  fall, 
But  every  promise  of  God  holds  fast, 

He  never  is  deaf  to  our  call. 
If  the  child  thinks  a  stone  is  its  bread, 

Will  the  mother  give  that  for  its  cry  ? 
Some  plan  and  purpose  too  broad  for  our  thought, 

Was  the  reason  why  Garfield  must  die. 

4 '  Fear  not,  little  flock,  I  am  here, 

The  waters  shall  not  overflow, 
Down  into  the  flood  so  angry  and  black, 

Along  with  my  children  I  go  ; 
Look  up  to  my  bow  in  the  cloud — 

It  arches  above  the  dark  grave, 
Its  colors  divine,  it  cheers  one  like  wine, 

And  tints  with  a  glory  each  wave ; 
S3- — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  155 

For  I  will  come  back  and  bring  in  my  train 

Your  dead  made  alive  by  my  power ; 
'Then,  child,  bear  the  burden  and  lean  on  me  hard, 

While  waiting  for  me  and  my  hour." 

In  every  cloud  of  sorrow  and  sin, 

Christ  is  set  as  the  rainbow  for  you ; 
•O,  grief  stricken  souls,  look  up  to  the  sky, 

His  word  is  both  steadfast  and  true. 
While  bells  of  the  midnight  were  tolling  for  us, 

And  Death  was  undoing  the  door, 
'The  Master's  call  was  ringing  for  him, 

And  angels  came  down  to  the  shore 
With  welcoming  songs  ;  the  leash  of  pain, 

So  fretted,  had  broken  at  last ; 
Freed  spirit  that  soars  beyond  the  skies, 

Thy  woes  are  all  overpast . 
We  say  good  night,  but  very  soon 

It  will  be,  "  Good  morning,  friend  ;" 
The  sun  has  risen,  again  'tis  light, 

And  our  joy  shall  never  end. 
Kainbow  of  promise,  shine  on  my  way, 

Stretch  onward  from  cross  unto  crown ; 
Life's  restless  fever  is  over  soon, 

And  we  lay  our  burdens  down. 


m ; 

156  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Summer  has  <3>ome. 

^AlJEEN  Summer  has  come,  the  blue  birds  sing 
r|r     Already  the  roses  begin  to  blow, 
Up  in  the  trees  the  orioles  swing, 
Out  to  the  breeze  the  wild  flowers  fling 
Their  dainty  robes  wove  under  the  snow. 

What  is  the  message  they  bring  us  to-day, 

For  hearts  grown  heavy  with  pain  and  care  ? 
This,  the  sweet  word  blown  over  the  way  : 
"Rejoice  in  the  Lord,  and  always  pray, 
Though  your  hearts  may  be  heavy  and  sair. 

The  day  is  sure  to  follow  the  night, 

The  sun  will  shine  again  after  the  storm, 
The  buried  blooms  rise  up  to  the  light, 
Though  earth  is  cold  the  heavens  are  brightr 
Our  Father  above  has  kept  them  warm." 

"Winter  came  down  to  his  native  land, 

Away  to  the  south  the  birdies  flew ; 
Summer  has  broken  the  icy  wand, 
Uncrowned  the  king  and  loosed  his  hand  j 
Now  she  pipes  for  her  carnival  crew. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


157 


"Whirring  wings  are  athrob  in  the  air, 
The  flowers  though  dead,  are  alive  again, 

J  hail  thee,  prophecy,  sweet  and  rare, 

Gladly  I  climb  up  a  golden  stair, 

While  mounting  I  catch  a  glad  refrain  : 

"  Sweet  things  may  go — even  life  may  go — 

They  wait  for  you  over  the  river, 
Tor  Time  sweeps  on  with  a  strong,  swift  flow, 
And  this  one  thing  you  may  surely  know, 
God  holdeth  your  treasures  forever." 

"Winter  is  certainly  followed  by  Spring, 

And  Spring  by  the  summer  time  glory  ; 
I  have  found  my  rock  and  learned  to  cling, 
let  the  song  in  my  heart  full  loudly  ring, 
That  I  learned  in  the  old,  old  story, 


Silver  Wedding  Song. 

to  the  joyful,  jubilant  peal, 
The  marriage  bells  are  ringing. 
We  halt  before  a  beautiful  gate, 
With  gifts  and  blessings  here  we  wait, 
:Swing  wide  the  way,  O,  Priestess  Fate, 
And  see  what  we  are  bringing. 


© 

158  MISCELLANEOUS. 

To-night  I  bring  a  silver  thought, 

And  braid  it  with  a  posy  ; 
For  all  the  silver  bells  should  ring, 
And  all  the  white  robed  angels  sing, 
While  heaven  and  earth  make  haste  to  fling- 
Out  banners  white  and  rosy. 

To-night  we  halt  upon  the  way, 

And  all  our  lips  are  smiling ; 
The  bridal  rose  is  fragrant  still ; 
Fill  up  the  golden  beaker,  fill, 
And  let  your  cheers  ring  with  a  will — 

Time  yields  to  our  beguiling. 

To-night  we  lay  our  burdens  down, 

And  all  the  fret  of  passion  ; 
Upon  the  cord  of  passing  years, 
Old  Time  has  strung  some  hopes,  some  fears,, 
Perhaps  a  dash  of  rainbowed  tears, 

For  that  is  old  Time's  fashion. 

To-night  we  look  adown  the  road, 

Tired  with  our  lengthened  climbing ; 
A  silver  moon  is  in  the  skv, 
One  shining  cloud  is  floating  by, 
Hark  !  Don't  you  hear  a  silver  cry, 
Now  sweetly,  softly  chiming? 

D : 


0 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


159 


That  voice  once  graced  a  wedding  feast, 

In  ancient  Galilee ; 

O,  thorn  crowned  One,  come  help  to  twine 
White  lillies  for  this  festal  time, 
Come,  change  our  water  into  wine, 

That  we  may  drink  to  Thee. 

And  when  thy  marriage  supper  conies, 

May  we  sit  down  with  singing; 
Up  there  where  full  banked  rivers  run, 
Where  God  Himself  is  shield  and  sun, 
Our  coils  and  cares  will  then  be  done, 
While  heaven  with  joy  is  ringing. 

The  blossoms  of  to-night  will  fade, 

Not  those  that  blow  in  glory  ; 
Here  every  rose  will  have  its  sting. 
Birds  often  fly  with  wounded  wing, 
Some  dross  unto  the  silver  cling, 

The  sequel  of  earth's  story. 

O,  wedding  bells,  sweet  wedding  bells, 
Our  pulses  throb,  our  full  heart  swells; 
The  tear'comes  welling  to  our  eye, 
And  yet  we  feel  this  joy  go  by ; 
But  ere  'tis  gone  braid  up  a  prayer, 
To  crown  this  newly  wedded  pair  ; 


_     O 


© 


We  wMcM^nay  never  end, 
We  wish  the  Lord  may  be  your  friend, 
WS'Wffili^BJf  let  the  curtain  fall, 
Good  night,  dear  friends  and  brothers  all. 


Red  <31over. 

l|f  HAVE  been  to  the  blossoming  fields  to-day, 
T*-     Have  caught  the  scent  of  the  new  mown  hay, 
Have  walked  knee  deep  in  the  clover  bloom, 
Brought  home  the  red  heads  to  garnish  my  room ; 

And  now  I  will  sit  and  tell  you  over 

The  graces  one  finds  in  pretty  red  clover, 

When  dew  is  upon  it  like  silvery  mist, 

When  sweet  winds  of  morning  have  airily  kissed  ; 

When  the  God  of  the  sun  has  wooed  it  again, 
The  lark  has  enthralled  with  his  jubiland  strain, 
The  clover  will  swing  back  and  forth  on  her  stem, 
Entrancing  the  birds,  bees,  babies  and  men. 

'Tis  a  fairylike  dance,  the  butterflies  come 

To  flash  their  gay  wings  in  the  gold  of  the  sun  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  161 

The  lute  of  the  wind  keeps  sounding  her  tune 
In  the  musical  way  she  learned  of  Miss  June. 

You  almost  might  think  the  world  had  gone  mad, 
All  things  are  appearing  so  merry,  so  glad  ; 
Nature  seems  bound  by  some  magical  spell — 
The  clover  is  only  the  honey  bee's  well. 

His  bronze  wings  are  flashing  above  each  pink  cup, 
And  buckets  of  honey  he  soon  will  draw  up, 
The  while  he  will  drowsily,  sleepily  hum, 
•"I  love  you,  sweet  clover,  and  so  have  I  come." 

In  her  tangles  red  robin  has  hidden  his  nest — 
The  stain  of  the  clover  lies  thick  on  his  breast ; 
And  there  in  the  nest  are  blue  speckled  eggs, 
That  will  turn  to  beaks  and  thin  yellow  legs  ; 

Will  turn  to  swift  wings  and  bear  them  along, 
When  first  they  essay  their  glad  robin  song. 
Clover  is  sweet  when  it  grows  by  the  door, 
Sweet  by  the  roadside — 'tis  sweet  evermore  : 

'Sweet  in  the  valley,  and  sweet  on  the  hill, 

The  winds  of  its  sweetness  have  drunken  their  fill : 

My  thought  is  so  weak,  I  cannot  tell  over 

•One  half  of  the  sweetness  that  lies  in  red  clover. 


162  MISCELLANEOUS. 

'Tis  sweet  while  it  lives,  and  sweet  when  it  diesy 
Its  fragrance,  like  incense,  steals  up  to  the  skies  \ 
Ah !  life,  you  have  learned  a  rare  lesson  to-day 
From  the  red  blooming  field  just  over  the  way. 


Answer  to  the  Nation's  Grayer. 

[HEN  the  message  flashed  over  the  wires, 

Like  a  breath  from  the  furnace  below, 
The  national  heart  was  stung  to  the  quick, 

Its  beating  was  heavy  and  slow. 
We  thought  of  the  white  haired  mother  then, 

And  grieved  for  the  poor  stricken  wife, 
We  thought  of  the  children  left  fatherless, 
And  we  thought  of  the  nation's  life. 

The  ruffian  that  dared  to  strike  at  him, 

Has  wounded  us  all  as  well ; 
The  ball  that  sped  on  the  errand  of  death, 

Hath  worked  with  a  magical  spell. 
The  North  and  the  South,  the  East  and  the  West,. 

Are  lavish  with  prayers  and  with  tears, 
This  wonderful  touch  of  nature's  wand 

Has  bridged  the  wide  chasm  of  years. 


-•: 


__^_ , , Q 

MISCELLANEOUS.  163 

We  besieged  high  heaven's  pearly  walls, 

And  we  stormed  it  with  our  cries  ; 
Over  the  battlements  strong  and  fair, 

God  handed  us  sweet  replies. 
We  bowed  us  low  down  to  the  dust, 

Lest  our  chief  should  go  higher  still, 
We  strained  at  the  cable  of  trust, 

And  plead  with  the  infinite  will. 

The  purpose  seems  dark  to  our  eyes, 

But  the  poem  we  read  very  plain ; 
We  asked  a  life  at  the  Father's  hand, 

And  he  gave  it  to  us  again. 
O,  life,  I  will  lay  thee  down, 

Close,  close  to  the  Savior's  feet ; 
The  answered  prayer  I  will  weave  in  my  crown, 

And  rejoice  in  the  perfume  so  sweet. 

Into  the  wine  press  of  the  Lord, 

The  clusters  of  grapes  were  thrown, 
This  vintage  gave  to  us  blood  red  wine, 

Yet  love's  white  lily  has  blown, 
While  over  it  all  God  sits  and  smiles, 

When  we  pull  the  latch  string  of  prayer  ; 
We  move  the  One  that  moveth  the  world  ; 

On  Him  we  will  cast  all  our  care. 


-: 


164  MISCELLANEOUS. 


Christ's  Transfiguration. 

spring  had  come  to  Palestine,  and  crowned 
eacn  hill  with  flowers, 
Blue  Galilee  laughed  out  with  glee  between  the  summer 

showers  ; 
"While  up  Mount  Hermon's  rocky  slope  four  men  began 

to  climb — 

Three,  earthy  as  the  rock  itself,  while  One  was  all 
divine. 

The  birds  were  singing  out  their  prayers,  bright  waters 

broke  in  foam, 
The  blue  sky  stretched  above  their  heads  as  if  't  were 

heaven's  dome  ; 
Ah,  heav'n  was  near  to  earth  that  day,  and  broke  the 

barrier  through, 
Two  came  adown  some  whitened  way — the  marvel 

quickly  grew. 

Transfigured  Christ !     I  dare  not  try  to  paint  the  awful 

scene, 
When  so  much  glory  from  on  high  grew  like  some 

shining  dream ; 


D 

MISCELLANEOUS.  165 

And  one  stood  there,  where  ghastly  death  had  never 

set  his  seal, 
With  Moses,  used  to  mountain  tops,  and  used  'fore 

God  to  kneel. 

Ah,  soul,  I  feel  thee  throb  and  leap  ;  at  last  the  trump 

shall  sound, 
To  rouse  the  sleeping  nations  up — the  nations  under 

ground  ; 
Yes,  then  the  living  shall  be  changed,  all  glorious  to 

the  eye, 
And  rise  along  some  splendid  way  to  meet  Christ  in 

the  sky. 

The  glory  hid  within  the  Lord  shone  out  upon  that 

morn, 

The  glory  hid  within  myself  is  waiting  to  be  born  ; 
All  this,  and  heav'n  beside,  my  friend  ;  do  you  wonder 

that  I  cry, 
"  Break  quickly,  cloudy  heavens,  break,  and  let  our 

King  pass  by." 


166  MISCELLANEOUS. 


A  Mamma  to  Keep. 

djt    BRIGHT  summer  morning  and  all  was  still, 
rf^     But  the  song  of  a  bird  just  over  the  hill, 
When  swiftly  there  cam£  to  my  ears  a  cry, 
That  God  let  down  from  the  summer  blue  sky  ; 
This  pitiful  call  was,  "A  mamma  to  keep," 
And  what  could  I  do  but  sit  there  and  weep. 

Ah,  mothers,  whose  babies  have  lain  on  your  breast, 
Can  you  take  a  wild  birdie  into  the  nest  ? 
The  poor  empty  nest  that  has  grown  so  cold, 
Since  the  clinging  hands  have  unloosened  their  hold ; 
Other  eyes  may  be  blue  and  curls  look  like  gold, 
Yet  we  cling  to  the  lambs  in  the  upper  fold. 

We  sit  on  the  edge  of  our  nest,  and  we  wait 

The  swinging  ajar  of  some  pearly  gate, 

That  will  let  our  Lord  and  the  children  come  through, 

Then  at  last  our  world  will  be  made  over  new ; 

But  while  we  wait  and  silently  weep, 

There  are  birdies  that  want  "  a  mother  to  keep." 

Babes  cannot  keep  mothers,  nor  mothers  keep  sons, 
Our  souls  often  die  with  our  dear  little  ones ; 
It  is  worse  to  have  a  dead  heart  in  the  breast, 


(SI- 
MISCELLANEOUS.  167 

Than  even  to  sit  in  an  empty  nest ; 

But  still  I  know  well  that  God  is  my  friend, 

He  giveth  and  loveth  me,  e'en  to  the  end. 

But  what  shall  we  do  with  the  motherless  ones — 
Shall  we  take  to  us  daughters  in  room  of  our  sons  ? 
And  what  do  we  owe  to  the  children  that  weep, 
Who  plaintively  call  for  "  a  mamma  to  keep?  " 
Christ  leads  us,  perhaps,  by  a  child's  little  hand, 
Until  we  cross  over  to  heaven's  fair  land. 


Jesus  and  the  Woman. 

IIS  a  beautiful  story,  and  I'll  tell  it  over, 

It  is  rarer  than  diamonds  and  sweeter  than 
clover, 

Its  fragrance  has  drifted  along  down  the  ages, 
With  a  charm  for  the  lowly  and  grace  for  the  sages. 

Let  me  paint  you  the  scene  this  beautiful  morning, 
The  smile  of  a  God  is  my  canvas  adorning, 
And  out  of  it  grows  the  rare,  wonderful  story, 
That  once  lighted  the  hills  of  Judea  with  glory. 


168  MISCELLANEOUS. 

It  was  only  a  woman,  her  black  hair  unhanded, 
They  had  hunted  her  down — with  shame  she  was 

branded  ; 
She  stood  with  bowed  head  and  clasped  hands  in 

her  sorrow, 
Not  hoping  to  see  the  glad  sunshine  to-morrow. 

There  were  men  with  stern  brows  and  lips  void  of  pity, 
Standing  ready  to  stone  this  poor  waif  of  the  citjQ 
She  had  broken  the  law,  and  frail  man,  unforgiving, 
Would  hurl  her  away,  name  and  place  from  the 
living. 

One  with  presence  divine  among  them  was  standing, 
In  form  and  in  feature  alike  was  commanding  ; 

His  voice,  sweet  and  calm,  through  the  tumult  was 

stealing, 

Swift  winged  were  his  words,  bringing  [wis(fom  ^nd 
healing. 

^•jiij-iTgrf  at  I 
' '  Let  him  cast  the  first  stone  who  has  ne>'er  wrojrged 

a  brother, 

For  only  the  stainless  should  judge  o^ne,  a;ft<)^er?i"  19  J 
Jesus  stooped  to  the  ground 

finger —  wro'r    ;    'to  mo  b 

Guilty  men,  self  accused, 


O- 


MISCELLANEOUS 

uHas  no  man  accused  thee?  "     She  answered,  "No, 
Master," 

While  still  she  was  speaking,  her  poor  heart  beat  faster; 
u  Then  neither  do  I."     She  went  out  forgiven, 
Her  life  was  reprieved,  one  chance  more  for  heaven. 


lyittle  Boy  Blue. 

yAH,  little  boy  true,  with  breeches  of  blue, 
^~f      How  much  do  you  love  me  to-day  ? 
"A  bushel  and  peck,  with  my  arms  'round  your  neck; 
And  now  let  me  run  out  to  play." 

What  makes  you  so  sweet  from  your  head  to  your  feet  ? 

"Sugar  candy,  I  guess,  does  n't  you?" 
And  what  makes  you  cry — can  you  tell  me  why 

"  Old  naughty  man  ;  now  is  you  through?" 


0 

170  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

~Not  yet  little  dear  ;  this  tiny  pink  ear — 
What  can  it  be  good  for?  Just  think. 

"To  hear  birdies  sing,  and  most  everything — 
I'm  firsty,  please  get  me  a  dink." 

A  cherry  red  mouth,  the  wind  from  the  south 
Is  not  sweeter  than  this  dewy  lip ; 

Let's  play  I'm  a  bee,  and  happen  to  see 
A  posy  ;  I'm  after  a  sip. 

u  My  mouf's  good  to  kiss,  but  mamma.  I  wiss 
That  you  would  n't  bodder  me  so." 

Your  two  little  eyes,  that  are  blue  as  the  skies, 
Just  tell  where  you  got  them,  then  go. 

God  cut  from  the  sky  a  bit  for  my  eye  ; 

It  left  a  round  hole  in  the  floor, 
Through  the  crack  at  night  comes  a  star  for  light- 

Please  mamma,  don't  ask  any  more." 


O 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  171 

To  Grade's  ^Picture. 

.II  fathomless  eyes,  looking  up  to  the  skies, 

What  mysteries  do  you  behold  ? 
In  some  favoring  gale,  will  your  soul  set  sail, 
Leaving  us  but  the  empty  fold  ? 

But  let  me  tell  your  graces  o'er. 
Sweet  Grace,  that  lit  upon  our  shore 

One  sunny  spring  time  day  ; 
Your  ways  are  quaint,  your  words  are  wise, 
I  know  you  learned  them  in  the  skies . 

When  angels  were  at  play. 

But  then  they  left  an  open  gate 

Through  which  you  flew  so  swift,  so  straight 

Into  my  throbbing  breast ; 
I  clipped  your  wings  and  held  you  fast 
Until  the  hunt  was  overpast, 

My  heart  is  now  your  nest. 

This  fragrant  hair  my  fingers  twine, 
Like  curling  tendrils  of  the  vine, 

Breathes  spices  at  my  touch ; 
Upon  your  brow  God  set  his  seal, 
I  dare  not  tell  you  what  I  feel, 

And  dare  not  love  too  much. 


'-- 


172  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

If  He  should  call  you  back  some  day, 
I'd  quickly  find  the  upward  way 

And  woo  you  home  again. 
But  God  is  love — of  that  I'm  sure, 
Long  as  the  ages  shall  endure 

He  will  not  break  love's  chain. 

Oh,  mouth  that  angels  loved  to  kiss, 
I  wonder  if  they  ever  miss 

My  darling  from  their  throng  ? 
Heaven  had  grown  so  full,  you  see, 
They  gave  this  girlie  up  to  me, 

And  turned  my  life  to  song. 


<3>hristmas  <3arol. 

children,  I  come  with  my  carol  to-nigh t.. 
For  the  glad  Christinas  bells  are  a  ringing  ; 
The  heavens  are  full  and  the  earth  overflows 

With  wonderful,  wonderful  singing. 
So,  take  up  the  measure  and  send  it  along, 

Let  us  tell  the  fair  angels  our  story, 
How  the  Savior  came  down,  and  how  we  shall  go 
To  live  with  him  yet  in  his  glory. 


, i gg 

CHILDS    DEPARTMENT  173 

A  fair,  smiling  baby,  lie  lay  on  the  breast 

Of  Mary,  his  fond,  happy  mother ; 
:Such  a  wonderful  lullaby  she  sang  to  him, 

The  world  never  heard  such  another. 
Where  did  she  learn  it,  my  questioning  babes  ? 

She  heard  what  the  angels  were  singing, 
.As  they  halted  midway  'twixt  the  heayens  and  earth, 

When  the  heavens  and  earth  were  both  ringing. 

What  was  the  song,  darlings  ?    Why  I'll  tell  it  over : 

It  was  peace  and  good  will  to  the  people, 
'The  bells  caught  it  up  and  are  telling  it  still, 

Its  echoes  are  filling  each  steeple, 
'This  hymn,  once  begun  on  the  plains  of  Judea, 

Has  become  the  sweet  march  of  the  ages, 
'T  is  lisped  by  the  baby  when  falling  asleep, 

'T  is  chanted  in  death  by  the  sages. 

'T  will  be  sung  in  the  sunshiny  meadows  of  heaven, 

Where  the  throng  that  no  mortal  can  number 
Are  gathered  with  harps  and  with  crowns  on  their  heads ; 

Will  we  join  in  that  music,  I  wonder  ? 
What  a  passion  of  song  to  break  at  his  feet, 

The  .baby  of  Bethlehem's  story  ; 
'The  heavens  shall  echo  the  melody  sweet, 

And  the  earth  shall  be  tilled  with  his  glory. 


ft 


o _____ 

1^4  CH1LDS  DEPARTMENT. 


Staining  of  the  I^eaves. 

]STE  breezy,  golden  tipped  autumn  day, 

When  odors  of  spices  were  out  at  plav 
I  gathered  a  troop,  and  led  the  way 
Over  the  hills,  with  spirits  so  gay. 

Jack  Frost  had  been  out  for  many  a  night, 
The  woods  were  ablaze  with  rainbow  light ; 
I  stood  entranced  with  the  gorgeous  sight, 
Evoked  by  the  wand  of  the  ice  born  wight. 

I  sat  on  a  log  while  each  girl  and  boy, 
Their  hearts  o'erflowing  with  mirth  and  joy, 
Flitted  about  in  the  sweet  employ 
Of  gathering  what  the  frost  would  destroy. 

The  golden  buds  of  the  bittersweet 

They  brought,  and  heaped  around  my  feet ; 

The  scarlet  leaves  flew  down  to  greet 

The  hearts,  that  flew  up  with  a  happy  beat. 

Eusset  and  bronze  were  the  gathered  leaves,. 
Crimson  and  yellow  are  autumn's  sheaves  ; 
'T  is  a  royal  chaplet  that  Nature  weaves 
For  the  dying  year,  o'er  which  she  grieves. 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  175 

Wild  woods  scents  sprang  under  our  tread. 
The  sun  shone  down  from  over  our  head, 
And  ere  we  knew  it  the  day  had  sped— 
This  beautiful  day  that  God  had  led. 

Yet  before  we  took  our  homeward  way, 
I  gathered  the  children,  weary  with  play, 
And  told  them  a  story  to  round  the  day, 
I  learned  from  a  fairy  over  the  way  : 

When  the  royal  word  went  out, 

Every  fairy  gave  a  shout, 
And  the  staining  of  tiie  leaves 

We  quickly  went  about. 

Each  one  stole  a  pot  of  dye, 

From  the  rainbow  in  the  sky, 
And  we  promised  her  to  pay, 

If  we  could,  by  and  by. 

Up  and  down  the  trees  we  climbed, 
Oh,  we  had  a  merry  time ! 

As  we  daubed  the  red  and  yellow- 
Here  a  dot  and  there  a  line. 

Fairies  hung  on  every  twig — 

Fairies  little,  fairies  big  ;  -**-— 

Some  were  laughing,  some  were  talking- 
Lazy  fairies  danced  a  jig. 


Q ; 

176  CHILD?  DEPARTMENT. 

The  wind  was  drunk  with  pleasure. 
The  sun  tilled  up  earth's  measure 

With  pale,  autumnal  gold, 

Nor  missed  it  from  her  treasure. 

This  the  way  the  leaves  were  stained, 
Hazy  purple  and  azure  veined 

The  air,  earth,  sea  and  sky, 
While  over  all  God  reigned. 

The  fairies  I  sing  of  when  all  is  done, 
Are  only  the  fairies  of  frost  and  sun, 
So  joy  and  grief  have  life  webs  spun, 
For  souls  to  wear  when  heaven  is  won. 

It  is  now  a  jet,  and  now  a  pearl, 

The  shuttle  flies  with  a  ceaseless  whirl 

For  every  glad  hearted  boy  and  girl, 

Till  the  loom  is  stopped,  and  life's  flag  furled. 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  177 

Qomg  Fishing. 

I'M  going  fishing,  mamma,  dear, 

On  this  very  afternoon, 
Tor  papa  said  I  might,  you  know — 

I  am  crazy  as  a  loon. 
Now  I  must  run  and  hunt  some  bait, 

And  fix  my  hook  and  line ; 
.If  I  should  catch  an  awful  fish, 
I  should  need  a  stronger  twine." 

"My  darling,  don't  you  hurry  so — 

I  have  a  tale  to  tell  ; 
'There's  time  enough  to  get  your  bait, 

If  you  wait  a  little  spell. 
'They  had  killed  our  blessed  Jesus, 

And  put  Him  injthe  grave  ; 
.Some  hearts  were  sad — they  thought  this  man, 

•Lost  Israel's  race  would  save. 

4 'Peter  uprose,  so  bold  in  speech, 

But  sick  at  heart  was  he : 
•*  I  go  afishing  ; '  others  said, 

'We  go  along  with  thee.' 
,'So  seven  men  went  straightway  out 

On  Galilee's  blue  sea  ; 


178  CHILDS  DEPARTMEN. 

They  toiled  all  night  and  nothing  caught, 
Then  morn  came  o'er  the  lea. 

"  Toiled  all  night  till  the  moon  went  down,. 
And  now  at  the  break  of  day, 

They  drew  their  empty  nets  again, 
Up  through  the  waters  gray. 

'  Cast  in  your  nets  on  the  other  side,' 
A  cry  rang  out  from  land  ; 

The  loving  John  quick  knew  the  voice- 
He  looked  across  the  sand, 

"And  cried,  'It  is  our  risen  Lord; 

He  has  come  and  calls  for  me.' 
Then  Simon  girt  his  fisher's  coat, 

And  straight  plunged  in  the  sea  ; 
A  craven  once,  but  now  the  first 

To  reach  the  white  sea* sand  ; 
The  others  came  in  a  little  boat, 

In  a  little  boat  to  land. 

"A  fire  of  coals  they  quickly  saw — 
Ah  !   'twas  a  gladsome  sight, 

For  they  were  tired,  and  wet,  and  cold,. 
With  toiling  all  the  night. 

The  Savior's  gentle,  loving  voice 
Said.  '  Children,  dine  with  me  ; 
O i 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

And  all  this  happened  long  ago, 
By  stormy  Galilee. 

"They  dined,  and  then  the  Master  turned  ; 

'  O  Simon,  lov'st  thou  me  ? ' 
He  asked  him  once,  he  asked  him  thrice, 

'  Simon,  dost  thou  love  me  ? 
Then  feed  my  sheep  and  feed  my  lambs, 

Until  I  come  once  more  ; ' 
And  then  they  slowly  walked  away, 

From  Galilee's  bleak  shore. 

"  And  all  adown  the  hoary  years, 

Cometh  this  pleading  cry  : 
'  Lovest  thou  me  ?  lovest  thou  me  ? 

For  thee  I  once  did  die. ' 
I  would,  my  son,  that  thou  couldst  say, 

As  fiery  Peter  said, 
'  Lord,  thou  dost  know  that  I  love  thee — 

I'll  follow  where  I'm  led.'  " 


,0 

180  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 


Mother  Qoose  Revised. 

a  song  o'  sixpence," 
Sitting  in  the  sun, 
All  the  babies  round  me, 

Waiting  for  the  fun  ; 
Clap  your  hands  in  motion, 
Swing  them  up  and  down, 
While  I  sing  a  ditty, 

Of  what  they  do  in  town. 

"  A  pocket  full  of  rye," 

But  not  a  bit  for  you  ; 
Rye  would  make  you  tipsy, 

And  that  would  never  do. 
"  Four  and  twenty  blackbirds, 

Baked  into  a  pie," 
Is  better  for  my  babies 

Than  whisky  made  of  rye. 

"  Four  and  twenty  blackbirds  " 

Sell  it  on  the  street ; 
It  will  muddle  babies'  heads, 

And  tangle  babies'  feet. 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  181 

The  temperance  folks  are  baking 

For  them  a  little  pie, 
To  make  them  quit  the  selling 

Their  pocket  full  of  rye. 

"When  the  pie  is  opened, 

The  birds  will  'gin  to  sing," 
And  every  snowy  angel 

Will  wave  a  snowy  wing. 
Let  us  be  up  and  doing, 

And  help  to  roll  along", 
The  pie  that  we  are  baking, 

We  want  to  hear  the  song. 

u  Won't  it  be  a  dainty  dish 

To  set  before  our  King  ? '? 
Methinks  he  will  begin  to  smile, 

When  the  birds  begin  to  sing. 
Who  is  the  King  of  Glory, 

That  wants  to  hear  the  song  ? 
'Tis  Jesus,  up  in  heaven — 

Don't  keep  Him  waiting  long. 


Q 

82  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

The  Kitten  Story. 

little  girlie  bending  there, 
Her  eyes  are  full  of  mother  care  ; 
Two  little  kittens  tucked  in  bed, 
Each  with  a  nightcap  on  his  head. 
Three  little  fingers  rocked  the  crib — 
Now,  kitties,  do  as  you  are  bid  ; 
Four  little  eyes  go  right  to  sleep — 
Don't  you  even  dare  to  peep. 
One  little  tongue  wags  along, 
Singing  kittie's  sleepy  song  ; 
Two  little  kittens  jump  and  run, 
With  their  night  caps  into  the  sun. 
Three  little  squeals  and  away  she  goes — 
The  kittens  hide  beneath  the  rose  ; 
Four  bright  eyes  that  just  peep  out — 
Kitties  know  what  they  're  about. 
One  little  hand  goes  swiftly  in, 
Two  little  kittens  scratch  the  skin  ; 
Pretty  soon  they  all  three  go 
In  to  mamma,  with  their  woe. 
Both  the  kittens  lash  their  tails, 
While  the  tiny  maiden  wails  ; 
Four  light  taps  on  each  kit's  ear, 
Then  the  sky  begins  to  clear. 

__ -Q 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  183 


Whisky 


jjHISKY  Punch  was  a  very  bad  boy, 

Who  made  more  trouble  than  he  gave  joy, 
His  mother  shed  a  river  of  tears, 
Her  heart  was  always  convulsed  with  fears  ; 
"  O,  Whisky  Punch,  what  shall  I  do  ? 
I  wish  that  I  were  rid  of  you." 
"  But,  mother,  you  cau't,  I'm  here,  you  see, 
You  had  better  make  the  best  of  me." 

Whisky  Punch  had  a  cousin,  my  dear, 
He  went  by  the  name  of  Lager  Beer, 
And  every  man  who  was  his  friend, 
Purchased  a  nose  bright  red  at  the  end. 
So,  if  you  join  the  whisky  clan, 
This  is  the  badge  to  wear,  my  man, 
They  furnish  lodgings  free  to  you, 
You  lie  in  the  gutter  when  you  get  through. 

Lie  in  the  gutter  along  with  the  pigs, 
And  pay  for  it  all  with  whisky  swigs, 
The  mother  resolved  one  autumn  day, 
To  send  her  Whisky  Punch  away, 


184  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

And  well  she  knew  that  in  his  rear, 

Would  quickly  follow  Lager  Beer ; 

She  set  on  his  brow  the  mark  of  Cain, 

And  said  :    "  Do  n't  you  ever  come  back  again. 

But  the  boys  declared,  "We  will  not  go, 
If  you  try  that  game  the  blood  will  flow ; 
Here  we  are  and  we  mean  to  stay, 
You  had  better  let  us  alone,  I  say." 
"Let  you  alone,  that's  what  you  say? 
Arid  what  I  intend  to  after  this  day." 
The  mother  arose  in  might  and  power,, 
And  thrust  them  out  within  the  hour ; 

Then  locked  the  door  with  gleaming  eye,. 
Those  naughty  boys  thought  to  defy 
My  righteous  law — well,  let  them  go, 
Nobody  wants  them,  that  I  know. 
Pephaps  some  day,  they  '11  gladly  come; 
Back  to  their  mother  and  their  home. 
"Ah,  boys,  I'll  gladly  let  you  in, 
If  you  leave  outside  that  hideous  sin."' 


CHILDS   DEPARTMENT.  185 


Going  a  Maying. 

4OME  children  from  a  thousand  folds, 
And  let  us  go  a  Maying ; 
Come,  locks  of  brown  and  locks  of  gold, 

The  summer  winds  are  playing  ; 
I  am  so  glad,  my  two  old  feet 

Can  hardly  keep  from  dancing  : 
So,  regiment  of  babies,  march — 
I  want  to  see  you  prancing. 

Yes,  we  will  go  rigl.it  straight  afield, 

And  tight  the  queerest  battle, 
We  will  not  fire  a  single  gun, 

Nor  heed  the  drummer's  rattle.     " 
The  bugle  of  the  honey-bee, 

I  hear  it  shrilly  blowing, 
And  all  the  merry,  mad-cap  brooks 

Laugh  out,  but  still  keep  going. 

"We'll  slaughter  all  the  buttercups — 

Those  gaudy  golden  fellows, 
Spring  flowers  should  bloom  in  white  and  blue, 

And  not  in  vulgar  yellows  ; 


186 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

The  dainty  wind-flowers  for  your  spoil- 
Blue  violets  so  cunning — 

They  hide  among  the  meadow  grass 
And  whisper,  "Summer's  coming!" 

Gnarled  apple  trees,  thick-set  with  bees, 

Transfigured  by  the  glory 
That  breaks  in  creamy  pink  and  white, 

You  mind  us  of  the  story 
How  Mother  Eve  from  Eden  fell, 

Won  by  your  subtle  charming, 
While  father  Adam  comfort  gained 

By  going  straight  to  farming. 

My  soldiers  dear,  oh,  don't  you  hear 

The  birdies  at  their  revel  ? 
Blue-birds  and  robins,  what  a  noise — 

Their  heads  are  hardly  level ! 
JSTow  let  us  march  right  home  again, 

Our  arms  with  treasures  laden, 
But  ere  we  part,  I  would  enlist 

For  Christ  each  lad  and  maiden. 


CHILD3  DEPARTMENT.  187 


Nellie's  Chatter. 

[AMMA,  look  out!  I  dess  old  Mower  Doose 

Is  emty'n  her  nice  feclder  bed, 
How  bu'ful  it  looks  jist  hoppin'  along, 
I  love  the  white  snow,  Nellie  said. 

•"  Know  where  it  turns  from  ?  right  down  from  Dod, 

The  angels  are  -sweepin'  the  floor  ; 
If  it  didn't  turn  down  quite  so  fast,  you  know, 

I  could  see  right  into  the  door. 

"The  angels  are  wearin'  white  frocks  like  me, 

I  dess  I'm  a  bright  angel  too  ; 
I  would  like  to  do  and  live  up  in  heaven, 

But,  mower,  I  tould  n't  leave  you. 

•"  You  want  me  to  hug  and  tiss  when  you're  tired  ; 

Then,  mamma,  I  have  n't  dot  wings, 
I'll  be  just  as  dood  as  ever  I  tan, 

You'll  smile  when  your  little  dirl  sings. 

"Dod  has  dot  such  a  lot  of  angels  you  see, 

And  mamma  have  only  dot  one  ; 
So,  if  the  angels  should  want  me  up  dere, 

I'd  say  I  tant  possibly  turn. 


I Q 

188  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

"  Sense  me,  dear  angel,  but  mamma  would  cry.. 

If  I  left  her  alone  you  see, 
Ev'ry  night  I  tudclle  up  close  to  her  side, 

And  say  all  my  prayers  at  her  knee. 


Red  Breast  Robin. 

EFORE  the  liowers  begin  to  blow, 

Robin  begins  to  sing  ; 
Before  the  trees  have  dressed  themselves, 

He  heralds  in  the  spring. 
What  is  he  saying,  baby  dear? 
Open  your  mouth  and  you  will  hear ; 
You  open  wide  those  blue,  blue  eyes, 
And  lift  them  up  to  the  bluer  skies. 

"God  is  talking  to  me  and  you." 
Babies  words  are  quaint  but  true, 
Hear  him  ripple,  quaver  and  trill, 

Spilling  his  melody  into  the  air, 
Singing  his  praise  beyond  the  hill — 

Our  darlings  are  sweetly  sleeping  there. 
Baby  was  right,  't  was  the  voice  of  God — 
Our  loved  ones  sleep  beneath  the  sod, 
They  '11  come  again  some  joyous  spring. 
And  I  with  robin  red  breast  will  sing. 


CHILDS    DEPARTMENT  189 

Two  Johnmes. 

Johnny  li^ed  in  the  country, 
And  one  Johnny  lived  in  town, 
One  had  eyes,  blue  as  the  skies, 
And  the  other  had  eyes  of  brown. 

Country  John  was  up  with  the  sun, 

Away  to  the  meadow  went  he, 
Brown,  bare  feet,  and  a  whistle  so  sweet, 

While  his  steps  were  swinging  and  free. 

A  torn  straw  hat  on  a  curly  head ; 

So  Johnny  went  trudging  along, 
Brushed  from  the  grass,  dew  drops  as  he  passed, 

And  he  mimicked  the  blue  bird's  song. 

Wild  roses  abloom  in  the  hedges, 

Sir  squirrel  frisks  over  the  way, 
'The  boy  was  in  tune,  with  a  rolicking  June, 

Oh,  to  bring  up  the  cows  was  play. 

•  Johnny,  who  lives  in  the  city, 

Got  out  of  his  bed  at  eight, 
'Cross  as  a  bear,  and  he  did  n't  care, 

When  mamma  said,  "You  are  late." 

.Breakfast  must  down  in  a  hurry, 
And  the  laddie  went  off  to  school, 


190  CH1LDS  DEPARTMENT. 

Tired  body  and  brain/  with  constant  strain, 

Lest  Johnny  might  turn  out  a  fool. 
Better  a  boy  on  a  horse's  back, 

That  lashed  to  the  page  of  a  book  ; 
Out  from  the  street,  lead  the  dear  feet, 

At  Nature's  fair  page  bid  them  look. 
Build  muscle  first  and  then  the  brain, 

If  you  want  the  boys  to  be  men, 
To  take  high  place,  in  life's  swift  race, 

Either  with  plow  or  with  pen. 


Snow  Flake. 

>ABY  is  at  the  window, 

Watching  the  snow  come  down,. 
Spreading  a  mantle  of  whiteness 

Over  the  country  and  town 
u Where  does  it  come  from,  mamma? 

I  really  would  like  to  know." 
God  sends  it  to  us,  my  darling, 

And  we  call  it  beautiful  snow." 
"  God,  I'm  looking  up  at  you, 

Do  you  see  my  two  little  eyes  ?" 
I  think  that  he  sees  my  treasure 

From  his  home  beyond  the  skies. 


CH  I  LDS  DEPA.BTM  ENT. 


191 


Somebody's  Coming. 

NTA  GLAUS  is  coming, 
Oh,  don't  yon  hear  the  news? 
Santa  Glaus  is  coming, 
So  I'll  pull  off  my  shoes. 
For  under  shoes  are  stockings, 
And  stockings  hold  my  feet  ; 
Just  now  it's  my  opinion, 
They  '11  soon  hold  something  sweet. 
Boys  and  girls  like  candy, 
And  "  Santa  "  knows  that  well  — 
He's  coming  with  his  bags  full, 
And  something  else  to  sell  ; 
He  may  give  the  girls  the  dollies, 
But  boys  are  fond  of  drums  — 
I'm  crazy  for  the  racket 
I'll  make  when  Santa  comes. 
Gran'  ma  will  say,  k'O  dearie, 
Please  don't  make  such  a  noise," 
But  gran'  mammas  could  never 
Feel  just  like  little  boys. 
I  guess  my  precious  mother 
Will  let  me  pound  away— 
She  knows  it  makes  boys  happy, 
To  have  a  splendid  play. 


© 

192  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

I  don't  believe  in  heaven 

They  ever  say,  u  keep  still — " 
I'd  rather  stay  down  here  awhile, 

If  it  is  Jesus'  will. 
I  wonder  how  Saint  Santa  looks  ? 

He  's  just  a  funny  fellow — 
He  always  wears  a  bear  skin  coat, 

His  beard  is  awful  yellow  ; 

He  drives  a  span  of  reindeer, 

But  I  never  hear  them  go — 
The  curious  thing  about  it  is, 

No  tracks  are  in  the  snow. 
They  say  he  comes  down  chimneys, 

When  everyone  's  asleep  ; 
Had  n't  I  better  lie  awake, 

And  at  him  slyly  peep  ? 

But  mamma  says  it's  naughty, 
For  one  to  try  and  spy, 

And  always  when  her  little  boy 
Does  wrong,  mamma  will  cry. 

The  very  nicest  present, 
That  ever  he  did  bring, 

Was  a  cunning  little  baby, 
That  made  the  angels  sing. 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  193 


•See  here,  now,  I'm  just  thinking, 

It  seems  a  little  queer, 
For  stables  have  no  chimneys  — 

What  did  Santa  do  that  year  ? 
<r  retch  en  told  me  this  morning, 

He  sometimes  brings  a  rod  ; 
I  shonld'nt  wonder,  after  all, 

If  Santa  Glaus  was  God. 


lyittle  Bare  Feet. 

UT  of  the  house  and  into  the  sun, 

Two  little  bare  feet  swiftly  run, 
Bonnie  blue  eyes  and  yellowish  curls, 
And  this  is  our  Queenie  among  the  girls. 
Dimpled  white  feet  skipping  along, 
Rosy  red  lips  that  blossom  in  song — 
Methinks  I  will  cage  the  song  that  she  sings, 
This  birdie  of  ours  without  any  wings. 

-u  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  the  winter  is  done, 
And  I  am  so  glad  to  be  out  in  the  sun  ; 
Buttercups,  buttercups,  come  with  your  gold, 
The  winter  is  dead,  and  spring's  growing  old. 
Johnny  Jump-up,  I  am  idad  to  see  you — 
Did  you  have  a  hard  time  to  work  your  way  through? 


194  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

Mr.  Robin,  I  hope  that  you  see  my  bare  feet — 
The  grass  is  so  cool  and  the  air  is  so  sweet." 

To-day  and  to-morrow  the  roses  may  blow, 

But,  little  bare  feet,  how  little  we  know 

What  thorns  you  may  find  in  the  pathway  you  tread  ;-. 

Though  the  thorns  are  beneath,  there  is  God 

overhead. 

So  gather  the  blossoms,  my  darling,  to-day, 
December  will  follow  so  quickly  on  May  ; 
There  is  never  a  season  but  harvests  some  sweet, 
And  this  you  will  find,  my  Little  Bare  Feet. 

The  daify-down-dillies  look  up  to  the  sky. 
And  so,  little  Dimple  Cheeks,  let's  you  and  I  ; 
A  few  weeks  ago  all  the  flowers  went  to  bed, 
And  some  little  people  thought  they  were  dead. 
But  through  the  brown  earth  they  now  have  pricked 

through, 

And  here  is  a  lesson  for  me  and  for  you  : 
Although  the  dear  Jesus  may  take  these  bare  feet, 
To  walk  or  to  run  on  Ris  golden  paved  street, 

They  will  come  back  again  ;  I  will  list  to  their  tread,. 
For  here  is  God's  promise  of  life  from  the  dead  ; 
And  though  you  may  walk  the  rough  highway  of 
years, 


O ; 

CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  195 

Till  your  feet  are  all  scarred,  your  eyes  dim  with 

tears, 

Reach  up  to  the  light,  keep  pressing  along, 
At  last  you  shall  join  in  the  glorified  song  ; 
There  were  thorns  for  the  Savior — you  may  suffer, 

my  sweet, 
But  Jesus  will  guide  home  those  little  bare  feet. 


for  Spring. 

[EAR  mother,  I'm  tired  of  the  Winter, 
And  long  for  the  beautiful  Spring  ;  * 
She  is  wonderful  slow  in  coming, 
And  Winter  's  a  hateful  old  thing. 

He 's  nothing  but  snow  storm  and  bluster, 

AVith  an  icicle  for  his  wand  ; 
The  soft  footed  Spring  is  coming,  to  strew 

Dainty  posies  all  over  the  land. 

Then  away  to  the  caves  of  the  Northland, 
Old  Winter  will  hurry  and  run  ; 

He  's  afraid  of  the  spice  winds  of  Summer, 
And  afraid  of  the  blazing  hot  sun. 

He  tcre  from  the  trees  their  green  laces, 
He  put  all  the  flowers  in  bed, 


a 


196  CHILD3  DEPARTMENT. 

Then  wove  a  white  spread  to  cover  them  up, 

To  make  people  believe  they  were  dead. 
Down  in  the  brown  earth  they  are  hiding, 

The  purple,  the  white  and  the  red  ; 
By  and  by  they  '11  hop  out  so  happy  and  bright, 

When  Spring  tramps  along  overhead. 
The  frogs  in  the  pond  will  be  piping, 

Honey  bees  in  their  hives  then  will  hum, 
Mrs.  Robin  and  Bluebird  keep  house  again — 

So  hurry  up,  Miss  Spring,  and  come. 
You  se«  my  Springes  work,  it  is  coming, 

There  '11  be  violets  and  birds'  eggs  to  find  ; 
Such  treasures  of  mosses  to  gather, 

Downy  flocks  of  chickies  to  mind. 
Good  bye  to  you,  Mr.  White  Winter, 

We  are  both  in  a  hurry  to  go ; 
I  must  hasten  to  welcome  the  spring  time, 

And  vou  in  the  Northland  may  snow. 


Baby. 

YES  like  two  pansies  and  mouth  like  a  rose. 

And  just  the  funniest  bit  of  a  nose  ; 
Hands  like  a  cupid,  brow  like  a  God, 
Then  the  sweet  darling  can  wink  and  can  nod. 


. -: ; Q 

CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  197 

When  he  is  sleepy  he's  most  sure  to  cry, 
Until  the  dear  mamma  is  ready  to  fly  ; 
But  she  knows  so  well  how  to  manage  the  elf, 
And  tuck  him  away  on  sleepy  man's  shelf. 

She  puts  the  brown  head  close  under  her  wing, 
And  straightway  begins  to  coo  and  to  sing. 
This  is  the  picture  of  baby  you  see — 
A  king  in  the  house — 'his  throne  mamma's  knee. 

Though  he  k<»ep  us  awake  more  than  half  the  night, 
We  call  him  our  darling,  our  treasure,  delight ; 
Rock-a-bye  baby,  my  baby  so  blest, 
Now  I'll  cuddle  you  down  in  a  soft,  little  nest. 

Sleeping  and  smiling — was  there  ever  before 
Such  a  wonderful  child  as  flew  in  at  our  door  ? 
Yes,  one  that  was  cradled  on  Mary's  white  breast — 
I  love  you,  my  pet,  but  He  loves  you  best. 


"  I>icln't  Want  to  be  an  Angel." 
||f  DON'T  want  to  be  an  angel, 
T*"     And  with  the  angels  stand — 
I'd  rather  be  a  little  boy, 

And  play  in  this  white  sand  ; 

• 

, ; Q 


198  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

I'll  heap  it  up  and  heap  it  up, 

Until  it  is  so  high, 
They'll  think  the  tower  of  Babel 

Is  bumping  'gainst  the  sky. 
And  then  the  angels  will  look  out 

And  say,  "That  little  boy 
Is  having  such  a  happy  time, 

His  heart's  brim  full  of  joy. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  they  would  like 

To  play  in  this  nice  sand, 
I  think  that  it  is  jolly 

To  sift  it  through  my  hand. 

Now,  if  I  was  an  angel, 

And  always  dressed  in  white, 
Mamma  would  never  scrub  me  up 

And  say,  "He's  such  a  fright." 
I  tell  you  it  is  awful — 

Soap  suds  gets  in  my  eye, 
And  then  it 's  pretty  certain, 

That  I'll  begin  to  cry. 

The  angels  stand  on  nothing, 

I  stand  upon  my  feet, 
And  when  my  sleepy  time  is  come, 

My  mamma  says  I'm  sweet ; 


"• 


CHILDS  DEPARTMENT.  199 


She  can  beat  the  angels  singing, 

Of  that  I'm  pretty  sure, 
And  when  my  head  is  almost  broke, 

Her  kisses  are  my  cure. 
I  wonder  what  the  angels  do 

When  they  get  tired  or  hurt  ; 
I  should  n't  think  it  would  be  nice 

To  never  play  in  dirt, 
I  will  never  be  an  angel, 

Not  even  if  I  can  ; 
I'd  rather  be  a  little  boy, 

Till  I'm  a  grown  up  man. 


<3hristmas  Bells. 

T  conies  around  just  once  a  year— 
The 'blessed  Christmas  chiming1— 
Just  once  a  year  my  lips  are  touched, 

And  bloom  in  Christinas  rhyming. 
I  will  sing  for  all  the  children, 

Upon  this  side  of  glory,  « 

The  lyric  of  the  angel  band, 

'Tis  Bethlehem's  old  story. 

'Come,  gather,  gather  round  me, 
While  heaven's  bells  are  pealing, 

Adown  the  solemn  midnight  sky, 
The  melody  is  stealing. 


200  CHILDS  DEPARTMENT. 

I  see,  as  in  a  vision  rare, 

The  baby  in  its  cradle, 
A  light  that  was  not  born  out  of  earth 

Fills  up  the  lowly  stable. 

'Tis  a  King  on  Mary's  bosom, 

Fling  out  each  snowy  banner, 
For  heaven  and  earth  resound  to-night,. 

As  children  shout  "Ilosanna." 
Methinks  the  choirs  of  heaven  stop, 

To  hear  the  sweet  voiced  singingr 
This  hymn  of  Jesus  belts  the  earthr 

'Tis  ever  ringing,  ringing. 

Braid  up  the  holly  and  the  green, 

To  deck  the  Infant's  cradle, 
For  Christ  came  down  one  Christmas  nighty 

And  glorified  a  stable, 
Yes,  He  will  come  again  to  earth — 
Sweet  winds  take  up  the  story — 
The  quivering  sky  will  break  her  bars, 

To  let  him  out  of  glory. 


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